“What’s going on here?”
“They’re gone,” Kaz said softly, sadly.
“Gone where?” Montgomery bellowed. Kaz didn’t answer, but averted his eyes and stared at the floor.
A dreadful suspicion took hold of Montgomery. He looked at the small red lights that ran along the floor-board of sickbay.
“Computer, locate Dr. Jarem Kaz.”
“Dr. Jarem Kaz is not in the facility,” replied the computer.
“You’re the EMH,” said Grady, his voice filled with shock.
The EMH who bore Kaz’s face nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Are you going to delete my program?”
Delete my program. They’re gone. “Seven and Icheb weren’t really here,” said Montgomery, slowly, working it out as he spoke. “Those were just holograms. And when they left sickbay, their programs were deleted, weren’t they?”
“I have been instructed not to say anything,” the EMH replied.
“You will,” Montgomery said grimly. “Grady, keep talking to him. I’ve got another clever EMH to interrogate…if he’s still here.”
When he reached the Doctor’s cell, Montgomery decided it was time for a good bluff. He strode boldly up to the hologram, and nodded to the guard. The force field was deactivated.
“Seven, Icheb, and Dr. Kaz are gone.”
The hologram arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“They’ve disappeared. Replaced by holograms. Know anything about that?”
“No I don’t,” the hologram replied, though he added archly, “but I can’t say I’m sorry. If only I, too, could escape.”
“I think you did.”
The hologram stared at him and spread his arms. “It appears to me as if I’m still unfortunately fully present and accounted for.”
“What was your daughter’s name?”
The hologram stared. “Admiral, are you well? I’m a hologram, I couldn’t possibly—”
“Answer me! What was her name?”
He had been right. The hologram that had replaced the Doctor was doing a fine job of imitating the Doctor’s facial expressions and snide comments, but there had been no time to completely fill him in on the Doctor’s developments over the last seven years. Fortunately, operating under the conventional wisdom of “know thy enemy,” Montgomery had been brought up to speed on the Doctor.
“Elizabeth,” it replied, trying to look confident as it took this wild stab in the dark.
“Nice try,” said Montgomery. “It was Belle.”
The hologram sagged. “He had a family?”
“Made up a holographic program. Little girl died. Lieutenant,” he said, turning to the guard, “I’ll need you to deactivate this hologram and download its program. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to—”
The blow caught him off guard. He stumbled and recovered just in time to see Lieutenant Garris drop silently to the floor from the Doctor’s Vulcan nerve pinch. Montgomery drew his phaser before his brain could tell him it was futile. The hologram raced for the door, and disappeared as Seven and Icheb had done.
“Suicide run,” Montgomery said aloud. But to use that term would mean that a hologram had a life it could choose to sacrifice, wouldn’t it?
Montgomery shook his head. Time to ponder such niceties later. Right now, he needed to shut the facility down. The whole place could conceivably be riddled with holograms.
• • •
The hologram posing as Robinson jumped. She had felt a slight fluctuation in her field. Not enough to be visible, but enough to know what it meant.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want this to be happening, but Baines had warned them it might.
She looked over at Andropov, and as she met his eyes she realized that he had felt the signal the Doctor had given them as well.
“I had hoped we’d survive this,” he said softly.
“Me, too,” she said.
Her console lit up. “Seven of Nine and Icheb were forced to leave sickbay,” she said. “The Doctor made a suicide run. And they know that Kaz is gone.” Robinson looked over at him. “They’re calling for a complete lockdown and sweep.”
“We’ll be discovered, then,” Andropov said. “I wish…”
“I know,” Robinson said softly. “I do, too. But maybe what we do here today will ensure that other holograms won’t have to be faced with our choices.”
“Do we have time to leave the messages?” Andropov asked.
Robinson glanced again at her console. “If we’re brief,” she said, and softly began to speak into a small padd. Andropov did the same.
Then, slowly, they got to their feet. They knew that every other hologram in the facility that had been placed there to assist Oliver Baines in his revolution was doing the same. They’d all gotten the signal from the Doctor, before he fled to his death.
Almost simultaneously, as if it had been choreographed, each hologram placed down its portable emitter. They looked just like simple briefcases, but were so much more.
They drew their phasers and looked at each other one last time.
“It’s been good to know you, Vassily.”
“You, too, Barbara.”
They took aim at the portable emitters and fired.
• • •
Allyson couldn’t handle it anymore. Even though Andropov had done all he could to keep her in the shade, to see to it that she was properly hydrated, the workload and the heat were simply too much for the girl.
She was right beside him when she fell. He heard her cough, and when he turned to assist her he saw her eyes roll back into her skull. She went limp and he caught her. She weighed hardly anything and he was able to carry her away from the cluster of organic slaves. He feared she might be crushed beneath their feet.
“Come on, Allyson,” he said, gently slapping her cheeks. Despite the heat that rose in waves around them, that soaked their tunics, her skin was cold. She was still breathing, though.
A shadow fell over him and Andropov looked up to see a mounted hologram. The sun was so strong behind him that his face was in shadow, and Andropov couldn’t make out his expression.
“She is too weak for the work,” he explained. “She needs help.” When the rider made no offer of assistance, he tried again, more desperately. “I don’t know what kind of master plan Baines has, but if he lets this girl die it will only work against him and his cause. Your cause. Please, help her!”
The rider nodded. “You are right,” he said. “Blood must not be on our Lord Baines’s hands.”
And before Andropov could even move, a spear materialized in the rider’s hands and he had driven its point deep into Allyson’s chest.
Blood welled up around the spear shaft and Allyson thrashed. Red fluid dripped from her mouth, bubbled from her nostrils. Her eyes were enormous and filled with incomprehension. Andropov screamed and frantically tried to pull the spear from her, as if that would help anything at all. She tried to cry out, but all that escaped her bloodied lips was a mewling noise.
It was hard for Andropov to see. Why couldn’t he see? In the back of his mind he realized he was crying, but all he cared about was Allyson, helping Allyson, oh God, she was dying, right here in front of him and—
Suddenly everything was dark and cool. The spear had vanished, but Allyson’s bloody body remained. There was no sun, no sand, only a cluster of people in a dark box with yellow stripes.
A door opened, and Oliver Baines strode in. “Our little adventure together is over,” he said. “The holograms I created to replace you are…have been deactivated.” He cleared his throat, and continued. “You will be returned, after we have had a chance to treat your injuries and give you food, water, and a shower. You may also rest in safety if you wish. Your clothing is clean and ready for you to—”
Andropov cried out, “You lying son of a bitch!” and sprang.
Baines’s eyes went wide. He tried to run, but Andropov was fueled by raw grief and righteous fury despite his weake
ned condition. He knocked Baines to the floor and began to throttle him.
He felt hands closing on him, trying to pull him away, and struggled, but to no avail. The holograms held him firmly as Baines got to his feet, clutching his throat.
Again the door opened, and for a second time, Oliver Baines entered. “I thought one of you might try something like that,” he said mildly, “so I sent in my holographic replica. He can endure such attacks much better. Flesh is so fragile.” Baines looked at Andropov, smiling slightly. “Don’t you think?”
Andropov snarled and struggled, but he was held fast.
“It’s all right, Vassily,” came a voice. Andropov turned his head and saw Allyson get up from the floor. She was drenched with blood, and the hole where the spear had been gaped open grotesquely. Andropov tasted bile in his throat and forced his gaze away from the monstrosity.
“You bastard,” he said to Baines. “You ghoul. It’s not enough to kidnap innocent people, torture them, and murder them, is it? You’ve got to create holograms of their dead bodies and make them dance like puppets—”
“Vassily, no!” cried Allyson. As she walked toward him, the blood disappeared from her garments. The horrible hole in her chest closed before his eyes. “You don’t understand. I’m a hologram. I’ve always been a hologram, from the moment you met me.”
The guards holding Andropov let him go. He made no move, only stood rooted in place, staring.
She walked up to him, her green eyes compassionate. “I’m sorry we tricked you,” she said. “You would never have grown as fond of me if you had known I was a hologram. You’d have regarded me as the enemy, or even worse, as just a program, not a person.”
“You are a program,” he said hoarsely.
Allyson reached up and stroked his cheek. “Yes, that’s true. But I really am everything you thought I was. I am an artist. And I am a person.” She reached and held his hands in her own. “Aren’t I?”
Vassily continued to stare at her, and then all at once a broken cry escaped him. He reached for her, pulled her into his arms, and held her tightly. Her hair was soft on his cheek. Her arms went around his torso and she clung to him. Tears again filled his eyes, tears of joy and relief.
She was right. She was a person. And he loved her.
By the time they had finally moved away from each other a little, the crowds had thinned out. Only Baines remained. It was either the genuine article or a hologram, but Andropov was so weary from his injuries, the physical exertion, and the emotional wave he had just experienced that he really didn’t care.
“She picked you, you know,” Baines told him. Andropov wiped at his wet eyes. “She looked at your record and saw how you interacted with the other…um…guests.”
“He’s right,” Allyson said, squeezing Andropov’s hand and looking up at him with shining eyes. “I’m not a programmed character in a novel. I’m capable of making my own decisions.”
“Just like a so-called real person,” Baines said.
“I don’t know what’s real and not real anymore,” Andropov said. “But I care about her. I don’t want to leave her.”
Baines smiled. No smirk or grin, just a genuine smile of pleasure. “This is what I want to see between photonic beings and organics,” he said softly. “This understanding, this compassion, this mutual respect. It’s possible. I’ve always known it, now you know it, too. Lieutenant Vassily Andropov, I need your help.”
Andropov looked at him searchingly, then down at Allyson’s upturned face.
“What do you want me to do?”
Chapter 18
B’ELANNA IN FACT had come closer to finding her mother on her own than she realized. Her mother’s encampment was only a few hundred yards away, which was why Miral had been able to spot the fire and approach the person who eventually turned out to be her daughter.
They walked the short distance, talking as they went, and when they reached the site B’Elanna had to admit she was impressed. Miral had found an excellent spot. It was a cave, well sheltered from wind and rain. There was fresh water from a nearby stream that Miral said never went dry. Torres recognized several trees that bore edible fruits, and Miral assured her there were roots aplenty to be had as well.
“Healing plants, too,” she said, as she forced her daughter to sit on a flat stone with a none-too-gentle hand on her shoulder. “You have been injured. I will treat your wounds.”
There was really no response to that statement other than tacit agreement, and B’Elanna had to admit the wounds sustained from her fight with the juvenile grikshak had not healed as cleanly as she might like. So she said nothing, disrobing in silence while her mother, despite her previous admonition against it, built up a fire so she might better see to clean the wounds.
Using a hollowed-out gourd of some kind, Miral mashed a few roots with a round stone, mixed them with some berries, and made a thick paste. It smelled pleasant.
“Good enough to eat,” B’Elanna joked.
“Yes,” Miral said, seriously. “Cooked on a hot stone, the paste is delicious and has much nutrition. I will miss it, I think, when we return.”
The words made B’Elanna feel warm, and she hid a smile. The smile turned into a grimace when Miral began scrubbing the long, deep scratches with water and a sturdy leaf.
“We must open them and wash out any infection before we apply the paste,” Miral explained as her daughter hissed in pain. “These are very deep. They will leave scars. Good.”
“I plan on having the Doctor remove them with a dermal regenerator,” Torres said.
“Why? These are hard-won badges of honor, my daughter. You should boast of them. You should wear garments designed to reveal them. Then all will know of your courage.”
Torres didn’t argue. Maybe she would keep the scars, after all. But she wasn’t about to show up at a formal function in a backless dress, brandishing them like trophies, either. Time enough to decide what to do about them when they returned home.
After liberally coating Torres’s wounds with the healing paste, Miral plopped the rest of the goo onto a flat stone and with a stick shoved it deep into the fire. Sure enough, within moments, a delicious scent wafted forth.
“It seems the Challenge of Spirit truly does change one,” Torres said. “You’ve turned into a cook.”
Miral laughed delightedly at that. “You should taste the stew I make from itkrik,” she said. “Their flesh is too rank when it is raw. Even cooking doesn’t help much. But with the right seasonings, it is a feast fit for a king.”
“Sounds great. Is it on the menu for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, we head back.”
B’Elanna was puzzled and, oddly, a bit frantic. “But I undertook the Challenge of Spirit to find you. If I return after only a few weeks—”
“You will have honor enough, child. Especially when you tell the priests you have an infant who needs you. I think you would be sorry if she were six months old before you saw her again, yes?”
Pain made Torres’s heart contract. In her mind’s eye she saw her daughter’s tiny face.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I would be sorry.”
“Then it is settled. The paste will fall off as it dries. Tomorrow, we will gather up our supplies and return.”
Torres hadn’t intended to talk about it, but the words came out. “Will you see Dad when you get back?”
“Yes,” said Miral, without having to pause to think about it. B’Elanna was startled by the swift response.
“Enough time has passed so that there should not be pain. And if there is then we will simply have to push through it. The child you and your husband have borne carries both our blood. It is foolish to let years of personal resentment deny the girl our wisdom.”
Torres stared. Sometimes, when you least expected it, Klingons could be so very practical.
• • •
Seven of Nine winced and touched her forehead.
“Pain?” asked Kaz, solicitously. They were i
n sickbay, going through Voyager’s sizeable records on Borg technology and cross-referencing it with what they had been able to glean about the virus.
Seven shook her head. “Not pain. The peculiar buzzing sensation I described earlier has returned. It is increasing in intensity.” She paused. “Now it has stopped.”
Kaz and the Doctor exchanged glances. The Doctor picked up a medical tricorder and began to examine her. Irritated, Seven brushed it aside.
“We do not have time to waste analyzing my malfunctions,” she said. “It is likely that this is caused simply by insufficient regeneration.”
“How does it compare with the times the queen has attempted to contact you?” the Doctor persisted.
“Similar, but different. Doctor, it has ceased troubling me. You should cease troubling me as well.”
The Doctor glowered, and despite the direness of the situation, Kaz hid a smile at the banter.
“Besides, there is no danger of the queen attempting to contact me. She is not even in the quadrant.”
Kaz’s smile faded as the Doctor’s glower melted into an expression of fear and concern. He lifted his gaze from the medical tricorder and stared at Seven.
“Yes, she is,” he said softly.
• • •
“Your Majesty,” stammered Trevor Blake, “you’re not ready for this yet. Your implants could get overloaded. Give them a few more hours.”
“I do not have a few more hours,” Covington snapped. Blake was brilliant, but he irritated her no end.
“Seven of Nine, Icheb, the Doctor, and Dr. Kaz have all disappeared. It doesn’t take a great leap of intellect to surmise that they have joined with Janeway and are presently hard at work trying to find a cure for the virus. Their research will lead them to the inescapable conclusion that there is an active queen in the quadrant.”
“They don’t know it’s you,” Blake pointed out.
“If they get that far, they could possibly figure out the rest. Regardless, they will be able to interfere sufficiently to set us back years. I won’t have it. Not now, not when I have come so close—”
Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her lip as the memories of the joining flooded her. She couldn’t abandon her drones. Not now, not ever. The only way they could attain perfection was through her.
The Farther Shore Page 16