“What did you do?” he asked.
“Voyager’s crew tried many things,” Seven replied. “Ultimately, we were left with only one option. Unimatrix Zero was destroyed, but the drones that once inhabited it were given the ability to retain the memories of their individuality while conscious.
“To be completely honest,” she went on, “when I learned what Axum and I had shared, I was curious. But circumstances did not permit me to delve into our hidden past. I hoped that once Axum and the others were freed, we might find each other. But he was on a ship in the Beta Quadrant and Voyager was still deep in the Delta Quadrant.”
A faint smile rose to Hugh’s lips. “ ‘Was ever woman in this humour woo’d? Was ever woman in this humour won?’ ” he said.
“I never lied to you,” she said softly. “I could never have given myself to you in this way had I felt the need or desire to lie to you. When these dreams began, they were so vivid. I assumed that what you and I had shared had begun to unlock whatever subconscious memories I might have of Axum.”
“Did you love him?”
“I must have,” she admitted. “But what does it matter if I can’t remember anything we shared?”
“Move over,” he said.
When Seven remained still, he rose and moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside her. Hugh then placed an arm over her shoulders, and after a few moments, she relented, relaxing into his arms.
“You’re probably right about the source of the dreams,” he said softly. “I wish you’d felt free to share them with me sooner. It would have made the last few days easier. But it doesn’t matter now. You’re entitled, of course, to your own private fantasy life. It’s my job to make sure you never want to meet anyone else there but me.”
“You were angry with me?” she asked.
“I was nervous,” he replied. “I didn’t think to find competition for your affections quite so soon.”
“Should you ever have cause to worry in that regard, you won’t have to wonder,” she said. “Pretense is a waste of time. You’ve already taught me that.”
“Care to begin a new lesson?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m tired. I’d like to spend a little time alone.”
Hugh tensed beside her.
“In my mind,” she clarified. “You should also get some rest. Clearly I have already stolen too much from you in the last few days.”
“There are medications I could suggest that would offer you a dreamless sleep.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she said, turning over and settling her head on the pillow. Hugh did the same, his body nestled close to hers but refraining from attempting to embrace her. His breath had become slow and regular before sleep finally came for her again; and with it, another intensely disquieting dream.
“You have got to be kidding me,” a soft voice came from over Kim’s shoulder. Turning from the astrometrics lab’s main viewscreen, he found Lieutenant Nancy Conlon standing at the door to the lab, her arms crossed before her.
“Hey,” he greeted her.
“Didn’t you almost die about ten hours ago?” she asked in disbelief as she moved toward him.
“I guess.” He shrugged.
“Weren’t you ordered to hit your rack as soon as that briefing ended?”
“Yes.”
Opening her arms and looking around the otherwise empty lab, she said, “So what gives?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Kim admitted, “too much to do.”
Conlon paused, her face etched with concern. Obviously worried, she asked, “You want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“What happened to you today?”
Kim chuckled involuntarily, which only seemed to confuse and concern her further. “When you’ve actually died more than once, coming close doesn’t pack quite the same punch,” he said.
“Okay,” she replied dubiously. “Jaded wasn’t a word I’d ever thought to use to describe you, Harry Kim.” After a long pause she continued, “So, if it’s not mortal dread keeping you up, what’s the problem?”
Kim shook his head. “Chakotay’s about to order us to move on,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“He told me,” he said. “Stopped by when he returned from Demeter.”
“I thought he was seriously considering O’Donnell’s plan,” Conlon said.
“He did,” Kim assured her. “But when you’ve got limited resources and a lot of space to cover, carving out a month or more for something like this doesn’t make much sense. Maybe, if the last few months had gone better, he’d take the chance. But he can’t risk doing anything that Command might question. To do this would guarantee that as soon as they receive our report, we’ll be recalled.”
“So what exactly are you trying to do?” she asked. “It doesn’t sound like he’s going to change his mind.”
“The captain said the only way he’d consider staying was if we could find a way to communicate with the wave forms,” Kim said.
Conlon’s jaw dropped. “Unless it’s to thank them for saving your life today, I’m not sure why we’d want to do that.”
“The wave forms asked for help. Responding to their distress call and assisting them does not violate the Prime Directive.”
“They want us to save that planet,” Conlon began, then caught herself. “Doing it for them is crossing the line, but helping them do it, isn’t.”
“Right. And we can’t do that if we can’t talk to them. At this point I’m doubtful we can establish any sort of rudimentary communications, but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
Conlon stepped back and thought for a moment. Finally she asked, “Why do you want to help them?”
Kim turned to look at her, his face solemn. “I know it’s not our problem. I know the life-forms down there will never know the difference. But it bothers me. Someone tried to do right by those creatures. They expended resources to create the wave forms and used them to save the life they found out here. They just didn’t put enough thought into their work. The Ark planet is like a memorial to mediocrity. A lot of the problems down there were easy enough to see coming.”
“For us, maybe,” Conlon suggested. “Starfleet has explored thousands of planets with countless different life-forms over hundreds of years. Maybe whoever did this didn’t have our expertise or experience and just did the best they could.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better about abandoning them.” Kim shrugged.
“The wave forms are a piece of technology, Harry; interesting, complex, and clearly stubborn technology, but they aren’t sentient.”
“They lifted that cloak and brought us here because they thought we could help. They saved my life today. We’re about to leave, and we can’t even make them understand why. What if somebody else comes out here, somebody with our expertise and ability who isn’t bound by the Prime Directive, and the wave forms don’t even give them a chance because we’ve taught them not to bother?”
“What did you say?” Conlon asked softly.
“What if somebody else comes out here . . .” Kim began.
“No, the last part. We taught them . . .”
“. . . not to bother,” Kim finished for her.
“You’re trying to figure out how to take that message you originally decrypted and turn it into a translation matrix. You want to make them understand why we’re doing what we’re doing. But they’re not capable of that. They don’t assign meaning or value to the data they perceive and transmit. They are simply following their original programming. They were assigned a function—protect this space and keep these life-forms alive—and they are looking for more data that will allow them to do that.”
“They’ve already downloaded every bit of information contained in the databases of both of our ships, but that data is of no use them if we can’t show them how to use it.”
“I’m saying it’s simpler than that, Harry. You’re reaching for the sta
rs when the moon will do.”
Kim thought for a moment until it hit him. “They’ve got the raw data but no way to correlate it to the function they are trying to complete.”
“So,” she encouraged him.
“So we just need to give them the explicit instructions,” Kim realized. “We need to tell them exactly what we would do for the Ark planet, and let them do it.”
“It’s not a perfect solution,” Conlon warned. “There are going to be substances, probably even some simple life-forms they will require, that we will have to create and let the wave forms introduce to the planet. We may not be crossing the line Chakotay is so worried about, but we’ll be dancing right up to the edge of it.”
“Yes, but as long as we’re working with them, helping them advance their own abilities, I think he’ll allow it,” Kim said.
“Which just leaves one problem,” Conlon said.
“How do we introduce that data to them? They eat our probes and the only subspace communication they responded to was the message they originally left with us,” Kim replied.
“Right,” Conlon agreed.
After a moment, Kim asked, “Any ideas?”
“Not yet,” she said, “but I just started working on this. Give me a few minutes.” She smiled and moved to the data terminal beside him.
Unable to repress a wide smile, Kim said, “You don’t have to do this now. It is the middle of the night.”
“And not at all what I hoped we’d be doing with our off hours,” Conlon said, “but don’t ever let it be said that Harry Kim didn’t know how to show a girl a good time.”
Kim chuckled, then paused. “Wait . . . did somebody actually say that?”
“Take it easy,” she said slyly. “We have work to do.”
Chapter Sixteen
SAN FRANCISCO
Four days.
The volume of communiqués and files submitted for Admiral Janeway’s review was staggering.
I’m not even on duty yet, she mused. It was terrifying to imagine what her desk would look like when she had been officially reinstated.
While away from Starfleet headquarters, Janeway had missed six scheduled appointments, three with Counselor Jens and three with other evaluators. The reminders for those appointments were at the top of her day’s duty roster and flashed at her in vivid crimson hues.
A familiar voice greeted Janeway as she was moving to her replicator to create the first of what she assumed would be several cups of coffee to get her through the day.
“Good morning, Admiral Janeway,” Decan said. Once again he had flawlessly executed a maneuver he had long ago perfected: entering her office and coming within a hair’s breadth of her without her noticing. The slightly built Vulcan had been her personal aide a lifetime ago. She assumed that once she had died, Decan had been reassigned, but she was touched he had taken the time to stop by to see her.
“Decan.” She smiled warmly, only then noticing that he carried a small tray upon which rested a carafe, a mug, and a padd. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes,” she added immediately.
“There are a number of matters I believe it would be prudent for you to prioritize this morning, Admiral,” he said evenly.
Surprised, Janeway asked, “How is it possible you did not receive a promotion during my absence of the last fourteen months? I assumed that by now you would be running this place.”
“Shortly after your memorial service I was promoted to full lieutenant and was assigned to the headquarters staffing offices. I have been tasked with fulfilling the personnel needs of many departments, including those of Project Full Circle,” he said.
“So this is just you being nice?” Janeway asked dubiously.
“I have found no work since your departure as fulfilling as that I did by your side, Admiral,” he said respectfully enough, though Janeway did not miss the slight Vulcan sarcasm, “and I believe I am capable of continuing to render necessary services to the staffing office while addressing your needs as well.”
“That is most kind of you, Decan,” she said, “but you need to think about your career, too. Coming back to my office has to be seen as a demotion.”
“On the contrary,” he said. “I have always preferred assignments where my capabilities were most effectively used regardless of the perceived stature of the assignment. When I was asked to consider candidates for the position of your new aide, none had the requisite experience or temperament.”
“Temperament?” Janeway asked pointedly.
“Do you wish me to elaborate on that point?”
“No.” She smiled.
“Excellent. On a personal note, I hasten to add that I believe I will enjoy the challenges presented when I return to your service once your new position as commander of the Full Circle fleet is approved and you are back on a starship.”
When she did not immediately respond, he added, “I have always wished to travel.”
“That might be a problem,” Janeway admitted. “I have no reason to believe that position will be offered to me again.”
“A few things have come to my attention in your absence, Admiral, that I believe you will find interesting,” Decan said, apparently confident about her future. “I have taken the liberty of reviewing your status and activity logs while you were away, and based upon your actions, prepared follow-up reports.”
Janeway nodded, poured herself a cup of steaming coffee from the carafe, took the padd from the tray, and sat. It was the first time she had felt normal at this desk, and it was entirely to Decan’s credit.
“Go ahead,” she ordered.
“Captain Drafar reports that work is well under way on the Vesta. The estimated completion date is twenty-six days from today.”
“Good.”
“Lieutenant Varia has filed a new report from Pathfinder indicating that twelve percent of Full Circle’s relays in the Delta Quadrant are no long operational as of this morning.”
“Damn,” she said softly.
“Varia also states that the relays have not been utilized by Voyager or Demeter in nineteen days.”
“Wherever they are, they’re still out of range.”
“That is the logical conclusion, Admiral.
“Julia Paris has filed a preliminary petition with the Federation’s Family Court for a hearing on the matter of her grand-daughter’s current custody. It will be assigned to the Twelfth District, but a hearing date has not yet been scheduled.”
“I need to . . .” Janeway began.
“I have already prepared a rough outline of an amicus brief for you to file with the court,” Decan advised, “and scheduled a meeting with civilian legal counsel specializing in custody issues. It is highly likely the court will order formal mediation prior to scheduling a hearing.”
“Thank you.”
“Several recent reassignments of medical personnel both from Starfleet Medical and the Federation Institute of Health might also be of interest. They suggest a concentration of efforts on three Federation worlds: Aldebaran, Coridan, and Ardana. Each of those planets saw heavy fighting during the Borg invasion, and if civilian reports are to be believed, a new, deadly illness has struck those worlds. Neither Starfleet Medical nor the Institute will confirm at this time. All official reports relating to medical issues on those worlds were classified several months ago. I have requested clearance for you to view them.”
“The civilian reports . . .” Janeway began.
“I have aggregated all of the relevant articles for your review, some from decidedly unsavory media sources, but when considered in light of official actions are certainly suggestive,” Decan clarified.
“You’ve been busy these last few days, haven’t you?” Janeway asked.
“It is my preferred state of being,” he reminded her. “Two of those transfers are now stationed at Starbase 185. I inferred that the issue might be of interest to you and Galen’s CMO.”
“You inferred correctly,” Janeway said approvingly.
“Thank you.”
“You will find among your prioritized files the record of Admiral Hiro Lin Verdell. I do not believe you have yet taken time to review it.”
“I haven’t. But, I need to.”
“Captain Regina Farkas requested the same file for transmission to her personal database shortly after you departed Utopia Planitia.”
“Did she?”
“Yes. I have taken the liberty of rescheduling your evaluations with Counselors Thrivven, Waxser, and Stilten.”
“And those are?” she asked.
“Each of them specializes in unique testing procedures, all of them routine and standard when an officer has been captured, severely injured, or exposed to intense trauma.”
“Those are going to be multiple choice tests, right?” she asked.
“I believe they also include neurological scans while evaluating visual stimuli,” he advised.
“Terrific.”
“Finally, I must apologize for not seeing sooner to one personnel assignment you must have found most inadequate. The initial request was not forwarded to my attention as it should have been, but I have rectified the error and hope my new selection will meet with your approval.”
“Which assignment?” Janeway asked.
“Your primary counselor,” Decan replied. “Counselor Jens’s patient load was already too full to adequately accommodate you. I have secured another to complete your personal review who does not suffer from his limitations.”
“Decan,” Janeway replied seriously, “I could hug you right now.”
“Please, Admiral,” he began.
“Obviously, I won’t. But I could. You have been missed.”
“As have you, Admiral,” Decan replied.
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