STAR TREK: VOY - Homecoming, Book One

by Christie Golden

  Automatically B’Elanna covered herself, but the two women who had stripped her now clutched her hands and pulled them down to her sides.

  “You are to be reborn, B’Elanna Torres,” the woman who was clearly the highest-ranking priestess said, walking to her slowly, proudly. In her hands, she held a pot of some vile-smelling ointment.

  “You will go naked into the world, as you came [220] naked into it. You entered the world covered only with the blood and fluids from your mother’s womb. Fire births you here.”

  She stepped forward and smeared B’Elanna’s face, hair, and body with the putrid goop. B’Elanna recognized the smell of blood among other scents that made her want to vomit. The heat and the stench were getting to her and the room began to spin. She held on to consciousness with grim determination. Now the woman was smearing soot all over her.

  Her mind flashed back to her years as a child in the monastery. She’d never encountered anything like this. The rituals she’d participated in were flamboyant and showy, with lots of talk and pretty costumes. This was in dark, deadly earnest.

  They threw her hard to the ground. B’Elanna grunted as her body slammed into the warm stone. Something was smeared over her hands.

  “Now bathe your hands in the blood of the earth, in the fire that consumes and destroys.”

  She stared up at the priestess in horror. The lava was nothing less than rock so hot it was liquid. To immerse her hands in it would be to char them right off. The priestess smirked.

  “The mongrel hesitates.”

  The derogatory term spurred B’Elanna on. Some part of her reasoned that they would not ask it of her unless she had some chance of succeeding. And if she burned her hands off, well, the Doctor would no doubt come up with something suitable to replace them.

  She was too woozy to rise, so she crawled along the [221] stone floor to the pit. The heat blasting off it was almost unbearable. For you, Mother.

  Uttering a cry, she shoved her hands into the lava.

  And felt nothing.

  Part of her screamed that it was a miracle, that she had passed the test. The other part of her calmly reasoned that whatever they had smeared on her hands was protecting her from the heat. Idly, she wondered what the stuff was.

  But then strong hands were grabbing her and pulling her back from the pit, even as she realized that if she had lingered much longer, her face would have begun to blister.

  Dazed, sick, every muscle quivering, she did not protest as they hauled her to her feet. The priestess held her face firmly between her strong hands. B’Elanna stared up into her fierce, sharp-toothed, painted face, and found her beautiful.

  “You have been accepted. You may undertake the Challenge. Go forth, and wrest honor from the wilderness.”

  B’Elanna was spun around and almost fell. There came a loud boom as a door was opened in front of her. Cool air rushed in and she gulped it deeply. So engrossed was she in simply breathing in the pure night air, so sweet after the sickly toxins of the lava, that it took a moment for the priestess’s words to register.

  She was about to step into Boreth’s notorious wilderness clad only in blood and ashes, with no food, no water, and no weapons.

  [222] B’Elanna Torres almost broke.

  Then she summoned courage she never knew she possessed, and forced her head up. She straightened to her full height, and heard murmurs of approval behind her. Unsteadily, deliberately, B’Elanna Torres moved first one foot, then the other, walking into the unknown with her head held high.

  Chapter 18

  LIBBY WAS FURIOUS.

  Harry had been supposed to meet her outside of the Green Dragon well over an hour ago. It was one of the few restaurants still in business since the fiasco of the HoloStrike, as the wags were calling it, and she’d had to pull some strings to even get reservations.

  She stood outside in the driving rain because she wouldn’t be able to see him coming if she waited inside, and she wanted a piece of him. Badly. She’d never been stood up before in her life and wasn’t taking it well at all.

  Li Wu, a flesh-and-blood waiter and therefore as rare in San Francisco as a flying horse, cautiously stuck his head out.

  “Miss Webber?” he called, looking apologetic. “Boss [224] says he’s going to have to open up your reservation in five minutes if Harry doesn’t come.”

  Shivering, she turned and glared at him. Wu shrank back from her anger and she tried to compose herself, shoving back her sopping hair with one hand.

  “Sorry, Li. It was awfully nice of Mr. Wang to hold it for me so long. Tell him that won’t be necessary. I don’t think Harry’s coming, so I’m just going to head on home.”

  He looked embarrassed and sorry for her, but merely nodded. “Maybe sometime next month,” he offered.

  Libby grimaced. It would take about that long to get a reservation, if the HoloStrike didn’t end soon. The Green Dragon had always employed humans as waiters, busboys, and cooks, a tradition that had always made it quaint and endearing in Chinatown and now made it one of the most popular places in the city. Wang’s vision, a gamble when he had started, had certainly paid off.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Wait!” exclaimed Li. He ducked back outside and reappeared a few moments later with a small, enclosed cup. “Got some egg drop soup for you to sip on the way home. Your favorite.”

  Libby almost cried. She would have hugged Li had she not been soaking wet. Instead she gave him a big, runny-makeup smile, and waved good-bye.

  Of course, she had to walk. In the rain. Finding a public transporter that actually had a human to operate it was difficult, and because of safety reasons, any that didn’t have an operator had been shut down. On a [225] balmy night it was a pleasant walk despite the hilliness of San Francisco’s terrain, but tonight Libby soaked her nicest pair of shoes splashing angrily through puddles. She paused occasionally to take cautious sips of the hot soup, which warmed her enough to continue.

  At one point she turned a corner too fast and twisted her ankle on the rain-slicked pavement. The half-finished carton of egg drop soup went flying. She went down in an ungracious heap and landed hard on her knees. When she tried to rise, her foot behaved strangely, and for a dreadful second she thought she’d broken her leg and was not feeling anything due to shock. It took her a moment and a few steps to realize she’d merely snapped the heel off her shoe.

  She wanted to shriek, but instead took a deep breath, removed both shoes, and walked to the transporter site in stocking feet.

  Libby was shaking violently by the time she materialized in her small cabin in Maine. Rowena rubbed up against her and then stalked off, insulted by Libby’s soaking-wet leg. Indigo didn’t even bother. Libby stumbled over to the computer, expecting to see at least an apologetic message from Harry, but there was nothing. She muttered dark curses against Harry’s name and shed clothing on the way to the sonic shower.

  Finally, wrapped in a thick robe, she replicated a mug of hot cocoa and took a few warm, soothing sips. She was hungry, but that could wait. She tried to contact Harry, but there was no response. She left a very curt message and leaned back in her chair.

  For the first time, it occurred to her that something [226] might be wrong. She’d simply assumed Harry had gotten engrossed in something and lost track of the time, but she hadn’t seen his sheepish face on the screen when she tried to contact him.

  She put a call through to the Green Dragon. Wang’s face appeared and he looked as if he were treading on eggshells.

  “Hi, Mr. Wang. Harry didn’t show up there by any chance?”

  Wang shook his graying head. “No, Miss Webber. No sign of him. You know I’d have let him contact you if he had been here.”

  “Yes, of course you would, I should have thought of that. Well, if he does show, I’ll want to talk to him.”

  Wang grinned. “I’m sure you will.”

  Next, Libby tried Harry’s parents. Maybe one of them had taken ill. Harry was nothing i
f not a good son. As was their wont, both the Kims’ faces appeared. They always did things together.

  “Libby, dear! What a surprise!” said Mrs. Kim.

  “It is so good to see you!” enthused Mr. Kim, as if she and Harry hadn’t had dinner with them four nights ago.

  “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim. I’m so sorry to be bothering you so late, but I was wondering, is Harry with you?”

  Immediately she knew she’d said the wrong thing. Their lined faces filled with concern.

  “No, dear, we thought he was with you. Going out to the Green Dragon. It was so sweet of you to get [227] reservations in the midst of this dreadful strike, I can’t imagine that Harry would forget,” said Mr. Kim.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Mrs. Kim with conviction. “Something terrible has happened. I know it.”

  Anxious to calm them, Libby smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand and laughed. “Silly me! Tonight was when he was playing poker with his friends from Voyager,” she lied. “Tomorrow is when we were supposed to go to the Green Dragon. I can’t believe I got the dates confused.” She smiled radiantly. “I guess I was just so looking forward to dinner at the restaurant that I wanted it to be a day sooner than it was.”

  Mr. Kim smiled indulgently. “Young people are just too eager,” he chastised gently. “Good things are worth waiting for, not rushing.”

  “Harry plays poker?” said Mrs. Kim, frowning. “I’m not at all sure I approve of him gambling.”

  Libby realized that she’d just gotten Harry into some hot water, but better that than panicking his parents.

  “Well, it’s late,” she said, faking a yawn. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Never a bother, my dear,” said Mr. Kim sweetly.

  “You tell Harry that I’m going to talk to him about this bad habit of his,” Harry’s mother warned.

  “I will. Good night.” She smiled broadly. The grin ebbed the minute their faces disappeared from the viewscreen.

  Harry hadn’t shown up at the restaurant. He wasn’t home and his parents thought he was with her.

  Although Mrs. Kim worried too much about her son, Libby was beginning to think she was right. Something [228] had happened to Harry. And she was going to find out what.

  Director Covington seemed surprised and more than a trifle annoyed to receive Libby’s message.

  “I’m two minutes away from a very important meeting, Agent Webber. Can this wait?”

  “No,” said Libby firmly, startling them both with her determination. “Harry’s gone missing. I can’t contact him anywhere.”

  Covington smiled slightly. “Sometimes men don’t want to be found by their girlfriends,” she said, gently.

  Libby shook her dark head, and her curls bobbed vigorously with the movement.

  “Not Harry. He’s not like that. I also tried to contact his friends, people like Tom Paris and Lyssa Campbell. No one knows where any of them is. I was wondering if something was going on.”

  “Oh,” said Covington. Then, as her pale gold brows drew together, “Oh. Agent Webber, I want you to be able to view this meeting.” Her long fingers flew. “Admiral Montgomery is coming here in just a few moments, and I think you’d better be present, as it were. My little fly on the wall.”

  “Do you think—Oh my God, Montgomery isn’t kidnapping people? Why? What does Harry have to do with Voyager’s technology? Do you think he and the others stumbled onto Montgomery’s negotiations with the Orions? Does this have anything to do with—”

  Covington’s head came up and her pale eyes were fierce. For the first time, Libby saw the steel behind a [229] woman who had to be strong in order to be where she was. Covington had always struck her as friendly, but now Libby saw that she could be harsh when she needed to be.

  “Agent Webber!” The words cracked like a whip, and Libby had to consciously refrain from flinching. “These wild suppositions will avail us nothing. I expect you to behave as befits your station.”

  Libby knew she was right. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. She was starting to get hysterical, and that wouldn’t help anyone.

  Covington softened. “I need you at the top of your game now more than ever, Libby,” she said, using her subordinate’s first name, something she rarely did. “Can I count on you?”

  Libby nodded. “You can,” she said.

  “Good.” Covington punched a few more buttons and Libby’s view of the scene pulled back so that she could see more of the room. There came a soft chime. “That’s him,” said Covington. “Watch him closely and we’ll discuss the conversation when it’s over. I won’t be able to see or hear you, but you can see and hear us. And of course, everything you witness here must be held in the strictest confidence. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Libby. She swallowed hard, tried to calm her racing heart, and leaned forward.

  Libby had always respected Admiral Kenneth Montgomery, although he was a distant and chilly man, hard to truly like. He’d been a solid rock during the Dominion War, one of the real heroes to emerge from the conflict. But now, knowing what she did, Libby [230] couldn’t even give him the credit for what he’d done. He was a traitor, and worse, he might be responsible for hurting Harry. She looked at his broad shoulders and saw not strength, but brute force; at his brown, lined face and saw not the care of a compassionate man for countless lives, but only the marks of frowns and scowls.

  He strode into Covington’s office as if he owned it, glancing about and grimacing in distaste.

  “It’s a bit of a cliché for a Covert Operations director to keep her guests so in the dark, isn’t it?” he said without preamble. He did not reach out to shake her hand, and she didn’t rise.

  “You light your office your way, I’ll light mine my way,” she said.

  “You should get out more, Brenna. You’re getting pale sitting alone in the dark.”

  Covington smiled icily, dislike plain in her eyes. “I’ll tell you what. You don’t talk about what the sun hasn’t done to my face, and I won’t talk about what it has done to yours.”

  Libby snorted, even though she knew it was mean-spirited. Montgomery’s brown face was indeed more lined than it ought to be.

  “Enough pleasantries,” Covington said. “What brings you here, Admiral? Thought you’d have your hands full with taking Voyager apart piece by technological piece.” She waved her hand absently in the direction of a chair and he took it.

  “Wish I had time to do that,” he said, “but I seem to have my hands full with other problems. I was first [231] saddled with the holographic strike, and now I’ve got this damn Borg outbreak to try to keep quiet.”

  Libby gasped, her hand flying to her throat. She was grateful the conversation only went one way. Borg? Here on Earth? What was going on? To her astonishment, Covington didn’t bat an eye. Either she was one cool customer or else she had already known about it.

  “I’m not sure I understand—what does either of these things have to do with Voyager? Or have you been pulled off that project?”

  “No, I’m still on the project.” Montgomery’s voice showed his irritation. “Didn’t you read the report I sent out?”

  Covington smiled with false sweetness. “Quite a lot of reports cross my desk, Admiral. One such was the one written by one of my agents who brought the Borg virus to your attention in the first place and advised the Xakarian flu cover-up strategy you’re taking now. I perused your report but I didn’t have time to read it in depth.”

  Montgomery sighed. “All right, let me recap for you. We’re pretty sure the Doctor was involved in rabble-rousing the holograms to strike, and we also think that the appearance of Borg around the globe has to do with Voyager’s return.”

  Again, the Borg, here on Earth. Libby couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The Xakarian flu outbreak was merely a cover-up to hide a—a Borg virus? It seemed impossible. This couldn’t be—and yet she had no reason to doubt Montgomery or Covington.

  Regarding the
Doctor, though, she had no trouble knowing what to think. She’d met the Doctor. He was [232] acerbic, true, and a bit full of himself, but he was also charming and compassionate. He wouldn’t do such a thing.

  Or would he? No one had been harmed. He cared passionately about holographic rights ... could the witty EMH really be behind the strike? And how could Voyager be involved with Borg suddenly appearing on Earth? It was all almost too much to comprehend.

  They had continued speaking, and she realized she had been so busy digesting the information that she’d missed a large part of the conversation. What kind of a spy was she? Angrily, she calmed herself and strained to hear.

  “... contain the scope,” Montgomery was saying.

  “Naturally,” agreed Covington. “The panic that would ensue could possibly cause more damage than the virus itself.”

  “I’m here for the SOP check-in with all department heads. Any covert operations taking place at any of these sites?” He handed her a padd.

  Libby wished he’d just name the places, but trusted that if she needed to know anything Covington would tell her.

  Covington held on to the padd for a moment before looking at it. “Believe me, if any of my agents spotted your well-meaning security guards mucking about, we’d know it before you did.” She scanned the list, then shook her fair head. “I don’t think so. If you’ll tell me your plans and what you know so far, I’ll tell you if I have anything that would conflict.”

  Montgomery didn’t seem to like it, but obviously he [233] had no choice. Libby knew what damage could result if a covert operation was accidentally uncovered by well-meaning friendly troops. Years of work could be lost, a criminal could go free, and worse, people could die if their deep covers were exposed.