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 [206] 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 [207] 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.

[208] “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 in 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 [209] 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.

“I have to do it now,” she continued, recovering. “The doctor will monitor my physical reactions and I’m certain that you will do the same for the information download. Proceed to link me with the computers.”

He nodded, looking distressed, and began.

Montgomery was furious. Right under his nose, dammit. They’d zipped out right under his nose without [210] a by-your-leave. All three prisoners and the doctor who had, obviously, been a part of the scheme.

He couldn’t afford to publicize the escape. He had a pretty good idea where they’d gone anyway. He was just about to contact Watson when a fresh new series of alarms started going off.

He knew what they meant—there had been unauthorized phaser fire in the facility.

“Location of phaser fire,” he ordered the computer. It gave him a list of no fewer than seventeen instances in fourteen different places scattered throughout the facility. What the hell was going on?

“Casualties?”

“No casualties reported.”

Confused, Montgomery repeated, “No injuries?”

“Negative.”

“Who fired the phasers?”

“There is no record of any registered individual firing phasers in the facility.”

This just kept getting stranger. Doggedly, Montgomery continued, trying to get some answers that made a modicum of sense.

“Did the phasers malfunction?”

“Negative.”

For a moment, Montgomery simply sat in his chair and gaped. Give him an enemy, a weapon, and a clear shot, and he knew what to do. But this—how did you fight nonsense?

Then he knew. “Any life signs in the area in which the phaser fire occurred?”

“Negative.”

Holograms. Holograms everywhere, in one of the [211] most well secured Starfleet facilities on the planet—hell, in the quadrant. He stabbed a button with a forefinger.

“Attention staff! The threat we face is holographic in nature. Repeat, it is a holographic threat. Respond accordingly.”

They were all good people, they’d know what to do. Catching photonic beings was not his responsibility right now. He didn’t know who was involved in this—Baines, the Doctor, Kaz, Janeway—but his primary task was to stop the Borg virus. And that meant finding out where his escaped prisoners had gone.

“Computer, get me Commander Watson, stationed aboard the U.S.S. Voyager.”

Harry Kim froze when the light started to blink. Someone was trying to contact the ship.

If they had just waited a couple more seconds ... Frantically he finished the repair work and hit the button. A holographic image of Commander Watson materialized in the command chair, and Harry ducked out of sight.

“Watson,” came Montgomery’s voice.

Harry closed his eyes. They had expected this at some point, but so soon? He whispered instructions to the hologram.

“Yes, sir,” said “Watson.” “What is it you require, Admiral?”

“Has there been any attempt to board Voyager?”

Harry whispered. The hologram sounded puzzled as it replied, “Negative, sir. Should we anticipate such an attempt?”

There was silence. Harry wished he could see [212] Montgomery’s face. It might give him at least some clue as to how far the admiral’s suspicions had progressed.

“You might have been boarded and be unaware of it,” Montgomery said at last.

“I doubt that very much, sir,” the hologram of Watson said, sounding indignant.

“Well, let me put it to you this way. Seven of Nine, Icheb, and the Doctor have escaped. To top it off, Dr. Kaz has mysteriously disappeared as well. I think he’s with them.”

Well, now Harry had his answer. It sure as hell wasn’t the one he wanted.

“I believe they’ll be heading to Voyager first. The Borg need to regenerate and it’s familiar territory to them. How they got Kaz on their side I don’t know, but—Tell you what. I’m coming up and together we can prepare a nice little surprise for them.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s—”

“Montgomery out.”

Harry slammed his fist on the floor and swore. “Kim to Janeway,” he said. “We’re going to have company.”