“Has there been any change in his condition since your last report, Doctor Mai?” the Doctor asked as he stepped toward the force field.
“No,” Doctor Mai replied. “Patient C-1 showed minimal life signs when he arrived. After tending to the areas of infection, I induced coma to maximize his body’s ability to heal. There has been little progress over the last five days. I suspect I’ve done little more than postpone the inevitable.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case,” the Doctor said. “May I?” he asked, gesturing toward the curtain of energy that separated him from his patient.
“Of course,” Mai replied and nodded toward the nurse who obliged her by lowering the field again.
The Doctor moved to the biobed where the man rested beneath a medical arch, covered with a thin sheet. He performed a complete visual examination of the man’s body. The multiple obvious injuries the patient had sustained were more troubling than the reports suggested. The arch readings showed there were numerous internal and external wounds, most of which were several months old. That the patient had not already died of them was amazing, but no real mystery to the Doctor. A quick scan with his tricorder revealed the unmistakable presence of catoms. Unlike Seven’s, however, they did not appear to be repairing the damaged tissues around them. At first blush, the Doctor believed they might be dormant.
After a few moments spent confirming his suspicions as well as his dismay at the sickbay’s status, the Doctor turned to Mai and Commander Glenn and said, “We need to transport him to the Galen immediately.”
“Why?” Glenn asked.
“Absolutely not,” Mai added over her.
“I see,” the Doctor said. “Please lower the force field.”
The nurse complied as Mai stared openmouthed while the Doctor moved to leave the sickbay.
“Doctor?” she demanded.
“Yes?” he replied pleasantly.
“Patient C-1 poses a serious security risk,” Mai began.
“Not while comatose,” the Doctor said. “And with all due respect, Doctor, Galen’s security capabilities dwarf yours. Further, I cannot help him without access to several systems and programs unique to my sickbay.”
“You’ve been ordered to help him,” Commander Glenn reminded the Doctor.
“Fine.” The Doctor nodded. “Computer, begin Mark One level nineteen cellular composite neural scan.”
A sharp bleat was followed by the computer’s response. “Unable to comply.”
The Doctor nodded, then turned to Glenn. “The catoms currently sustaining his neural functions will not be visible on any other scan. I need to know how many catoms are in there and how well they are functioning before I can begin to figure out how best to help them do their work.”
Mai nodded subtly. “Then he is Caeliar.”
“No, he isn’t,” the Doctor said.
“How can you be sure?” Mai demanded.
“You have access to the same classified reports I do, Doctor Mai,” the Doctor chided her. “While his injuries make it difficult to precisely visualize his ‘normal’ anatomy and physiology, he bears absolutely no resemblance to any of the life-forms described by Titan’s crew.”
Mai’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Those reports were only made available to me a few days ago. It’s an incredible amount of data. I’ll admit my review was probably not as thorough as it should be. But Captain Erika Hernandez, who was Caeliar by the time our officers encountered her, was described as a female human apparently in her twenties.”
“I would suggest that you consider Captain Hernandez a special case,” the Doctor said. “I doubt seriously we will ever see her like again.”
“Starfleet Medical reports on Seven of Nine indicate she also retained her human appearance even after the Borg implants disappeared.”
“A less-special case, but more instructive in this instance,” the Doctor allowed.
“His genetic profile shows mixed humanoid characteristics of no known species. But he arrived on a Caeliar vessel,” Mai argued.
“So that’s it?” the Doctor asked sharply.
“Doctor,” Glenn warned softly.
“There was nothing in my files about Caeliar vessels,” the Doctor went on. “Do they even have them? They traveled in city ships. However, there were many images of transformed Borg vessels. I believe that’s what we have here. The Caeliar, as best we understand them, are comprised completely of programmable matter, or catoms. This man possesses a limited quantity of catoms. Most of his tissues are humanoid, and the only reason we can’t identify them is because we’ve never encountered his species before.”
“Where does a humanoid containing Caeliar catoms come from?” Mai asked.
“The Borg,” Glenn replied.
“Yes.” The Doctor nodded. “This man was clearly once a drone. Before the Caeliar transformation happened, he’d either had some of his Borg implants removed or more likely, tried to forcibly remove them himself. Obviously, he made an absolute mess of it. I would hazard a guess that he was suffering intense psychological trauma at the time and was likely already severed from the Collective when he performed the excisions.”
“Wasn’t all Borg technology, including all drones, transformed by the Caeliar?” Mai asked.
“Recent discoveries by the Full Circle fleet have confirmed that most, but certainly not all, former drones were taken into the Caeliar gestalt.”
“You are referring to Seven of Nine?” Doctor Mai asked pointedly.
“Among others,” the Doctor replied. “What we do know now is that all drones were offered membership in the gestalt. None were forced to accept it. In every case of those who did not join the Caeliar, any remaining Borg technology was replaced by catoms coded to perform very specific and limited functions. Our patient’s catoms are the only thing keeping him alive. If you want to know the rest of his story, I’m going to have to help them restore his body completely. But as I said, I can’t do that here.”
“Very well,” Mai replied. “I will process the orders for his transfer immediately. I will join you aboard Galen.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the Doctor said. “I will keep you apprised of his progress.”
“You’re a consulting physician here, Doctor,” Mai reminded him. “Patient C-1 is and will remain under my direct supervision.”
Off a sharp glance from Glenn, the Doctor nodded with feigned amiability even as he moved the files containing all of his new research on Seven into a discreet protected buffer. Those present in Galen’s computer were already segregated and would not be accessible to Doctor Mai or anyone else unless he authorized it.
“Thank you, Doctor Mai,” Commander Glenn added cordially, obviously troubled by the friction between the two physicians.
“I’ll await both of you aboard the Galen,” the Doctor retorted and left the sickbay without a backward glance.
INDIANA
Kathryn Janeway had been as good as her word. A little after six in the evening, local time, she had transmitted a message indicating she had reached the nearest transporter station and would arrive at her family home within minutes.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Gretchen had rushed out the front door and onto the large wooden porch. Even in the fading light, Kathryn’s form and gait were unmistakable as she made her way up the long path that led from the residence to the main road. It did not surprise Gretchen that Kathryn would take a few minutes to gently reacquaint herself with her home. Vast fragrant fields and ancient trees surrounded the property and had always been a refuge for her family. Gretchen knew Kathryn had missed them as much as the home’s occupant.
As soon as Kathryn caught sight of her, her pace quickened, and Gretchen’s feet found unusual speed for her eight decades. Within moments, they were in each other’s arms, and as soon as they were, the world was a perfect place.
Soon enough, Gretchen stood back, examining her daughter at arm’s length while still keeping firm grasp of her tri
ceps.
“What’s wrong?” Gretchen asked immediately.
“Nothing that a night at home won’t cure,” Kathryn offered, smiling with her lips but not her eyes.
As they approached the porch, her younger daughter, Phoebe, stepped into the threshold. Until the day she had heard the miraculous news of Kathryn’s recovery, Phoebe had held on to her anger, both at Kathryn and Starfleet. Kathryn stepped onto the deck, saying her sister’s name softly and opening her arms to embrace her. Phoebe’s face was a mask of shock. She looked almost like a startled deer, ready to flee. Trusting her instincts, Kathryn slowed her steps, giving Phoebe the time she needed. The moment their hands touched, Phoebe dissolved into violent tears, made all the more intense because they had been restrained for so long.
Kathryn took her sister in her arms and comforted her with soft words. Gretchen moved past them to the kitchen, content to give her daughters time alone.
After several minutes, they walked arm in arm into the kitchen where the table had already been set for three. Kathryn finally looked relaxed, and though Phoebe’s fair skin was blotched with severe red patches and her eyes still glistened, she smiled at her sister in unreserved adoration.
“Mmm,” Kathryn said, inhaling deeply. “Is that venison?” Detaching herself from Phoebe, she moved to the stove and removed the lid from the largest pot.
“No fingers,” Gretchen ordered, offering Kathryn a large wooden spoon she then used to retrieve a sample. There was nothing feigned or forced in the pleasure that lit her face as she swallowed her first bite.
“Oh, Mom,” she said. “That’s heaven.”
“Sit,” Gretchen ordered, and Kathryn pecked her on the cheek as she passed her and crossed to the table.
No culinary effort had been spared on this night. Freshly baked wheat bread, newly churned butter, and homemade preserves were already on the table, along with a tall pitcher of iced tea. The stew was filled with vegetables from Gretchen’s garden. When they were younger, the girls had chided their mother relentlessly for her “traditionalist” ways. Modern technology had made such efforts a waste of time. Finally both had come to appreciate that there were some things no technology could replicate, and whole natural foods were one of them. There were certainly no complaints as they settled themselves and began to eat.
Dinner conversation was light and peppered with outbursts of laughter. Fond memories were recalled, gentle teases exchanged. For Gretchen, who had never thought to sit again in Kathryn’s company, it was a stolen hour of absolute joy.
Finally, Phoebe’s coffee and Gretchen’s caramel brownies were served. Kathryn had eaten heartily enough, but she was content to pick at dessert as her thoughts drifted back to whatever had been bothering her when she first arrived.
It was Phoebe, of course, who turned the conversation to more troubling subjects. Though she loved her sister dearly, their adult relationship had been filled with challenges, most stemming from Phoebe’s insistence that Kathryn share more than she was inclined, or allowed to do.
“Mom said Command is forcing you to undergo some sort of test,” Phoebe began as she reached for her second brownie.
Kathryn nodded. “It’s typical under the circumstances.”
“Typical?” Phoebe chuckled. “How many officers have returned from the dead?”
“A few.” Kathryn smiled.
“So how long until you’re free?” Phoebe asked.
Kathryn’s brow furrowed. “Free?”
“Won’t they retire you once their curiosity is satisfied?”
Kathryn stole a glance toward her mother. Gretchen shook her head. She had not wanted anything to taint Kathryn’s homecoming and had not shared her suspicions that Kathryn would return to active duty once her evaluations were complete.
“My next assignment has not been decided,” Kathryn began. “But whether I remain here on Earth, or return to the fleet, I won’t be retiring, Phoebe.”
Phoebe glanced between her mother and sister, the lightness that had graced her features settling into brittle lines. “They haven’t taken enough from you yet?” she demanded.
Both of her girls were tough. Kathryn favored her father, particularly his temperament—her cool reserve and stubborn willfulness masked deep wells of intense passion and almost infinite capacity for delight and wonder. Phoebe was Gretchen’s doppelganger, with curly brown hair and icy blue eyes that stormed gray when she was angry. Her passion was no less than her sister’s, but she expressed it without hesitation or thought. Kathryn had followed Edward into Starfleet’s service, but Phoebe had never entertained the notion. She’d spent most of her life exploring a variety of creative endeavors before settling into a career of painting and collage construction.
Clearly determined not to completely spoil the evening, Kathryn replied gently, “They have taken nothing from me, Phoebe. They have given me the unique opportunity to explore the mysteries of our universe; to be of service to all people of the Federation.”
“They’re not sending you back out there?” Phoebe demanded, horrified at the thought.
“I don’t know yet,” Kathryn said.
Phoebe sat back in her chair, her face again erupting in streaks of red. “But you want to go?”
“I don’t know.”
Phoebe shook her head in disbelief. “Why would you?”
“It’s what I’m best at,” Kathryn replied, with honesty that seemed to take her by surprise.
“You’ve never raised a hand to anything you did not ultimately master,” Phoebe argued.
“There was ballet,” Gretchen interjected, hoping to bring a little levity back to the table. Off Kathryn’s surprised look she added, “You were, of course, gorgeous, my angel, but a prima ballerina . . . never.”
“Yes, well,” Kathryn grudgingly agreed.
“This isn’t funny, Mom,” Phoebe admonished her.
“I’m sorry, Phoebe,” Kathryn said.
“No, you’re not,” her sister retorted. “You have no idea what your death did to the people who love you. You weren’t here. You’re never here. Starfleet told us to give you up for dead when you were lost in the Delta Quadrant. We didn’t. But when the Borg turned you into a monster and then the ship you were on was destroyed, we had to.”
“Phoebe,” Gretchen said sharply.
“Daddy’s death, Justin’s death, I know what they did to you, Kathryn. I was there. Believe it or not, your death was harder to take. It wasn’t an accident. You chose to go out there, chose to risk everything for what? Curiosity? And now you’re ready to do it again? When is enough, enough, Kathryn? When will you accept the reality that not every problem out there is yours to solve? Does it matter to you at all that you aren’t the only one who pays for your choices?
“You know what?” Phoebe said, rising from her chair. “I won’t do it again. I won’t grieve your inevitable loss one more time. I can’t.”
Phoebe turned and stormed out, slamming the front door behind her. Likely as not, she was headed out to the old willow tree. In days past, Kathryn would have risen to follow her. This time, she remained in her chair, her face swirling with a tempest of emotions.
Gretchen placed a comforting hand over Kathryn’s. Her daughter’s flesh was so cold. “She just needs time, darling. It’s a lot to take in.”
Kathryn’s eyes met hers, filled with doubt. “It’s odd,” she finally said. “I’ve spent my entire life determined to do what is right. Looking back now, I can only see all the ways I went wrong.”
“Welcome to middle age.” Gretchen smiled. “Just remember, regrets are powerful, but they are also lousy companions. That’s a truth waiting for you on the other side of middle age.”
Kathryn rose to refresh her coffee.
“I’ve done up your room for you upstairs,” Gretchen reminded her. “You’re probably exhausted.”
Kathryn nodded. “I’ll just spend a few minutes in dad’s office. I want to check in before I go to bed.”
“
Of course,” Gretchen said. It had been more than two decades since her husband’s death. Fewer since her daughters had moved out. And while their childhood rooms had eventually been redecorated and transformed for more utilitarian purposes, Edward’s office was still as he had left it: a permanent memorial.
Gretchen busied herself with the dishes. She was just pouring the remains of the stew into a container when Kathryn returned to the kitchen, more calm, but seemingly energized.
Gretchen knew that look all too well.
“You have to return tonight?”
Kathryn nodded.
“You’re not letting your sister run you off, right?”
Kathryn smiled, shaking her head, and moved again to embrace her mother. “I’ll check in tomorrow. And I’ll be back here as often as I can over the next several weeks. This isn’t good-bye, Mom.”
Gretchen hugged her firmly. “It never is, my angel.”
SAN FRANCISCO
Less than ten minutes after leaving her mother’s home, Janeway was again at her desk at Starfleet headquarters. Although many offices were empty, there was still a fair amount of activity, even this late in the evening. Janeway could easily have read the letter she had just received, the one that had driven her from Indiana, at her main computer terminal. But her office felt far too confining. She needed air.
Transferring the letter onto a padd, Janeway left her office. There was moderate foot traffic in the wide plaza that fronted the building. Heedless of her direction, Janeway turned and began walking. The simple exercise was intoxicating.
Her mother could never suffocate her. She had mastered the art of letting go, first learned at the hands of her husband. Janeway knew she would return for several more lengthy visits with her mother, and she looked forward to them.
Her sister was another matter. Phoebe’s will was a force to match Janeway’s, and when it was directed toward her with such ferocious pain, it was excruciating. Janeway had known that many people had suffered when she’d been declared dead. But until now, none of them had shared that suffering with her so viscerally. Part of her wanted to ease Phoebe’s pain. But she also knew that her sister was holding on to that pain for her own reasons and trying to use them as a cudgel to force Janeway to do her bidding. The admiral did not believe she had ever attempted to manipulate another’s emotions so callously. But she understood the desire. Where love was given, power was granted. Janeway could never take back the elemental love that was the bond between her and her sister, but she would hold her own power close, until Phoebe realized that she was guilty of the same trespass she’d leveled against her sister. Janeway’s problems were not hers to solve, no matter how well-intentioned Phoebe’s desire to see her sister live a long life. Phoebe was accustomed to living life on her own terms, but when she disagreed with another’s choices, she was usually unwilling to grant them the same consideration. Phoebe thought she knew what was best, and damn anyone who disagreed with her.
Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors Page 12
