“A hologram,” said the man in a bemused and robust voice. “Hard to believe.”
It took Janeway a moment to realize what was bothering her so much about the man’s appearance, and a moment more to accept what she was seeing here on the distant edge of the galaxy, tens of thousands of light-years away from the nearest Federation outpost. She fixed the Doctor with a questioning gaze.
“He looks human,” she said.
“He is,” the Doctor replied cheerily, oblivious to the incongruity. “And in perfect health. And, I might add, in remarkable shape for someone over one hundred years of age.”
“You must be Captain Janeway,” the man said, and grasped her hand in a firm grip. “I can’t tell you how happy [306] I am to meet you.” He looked at Tuvok, and his pale blue eyes glinted with wonder and recognition. “Say, you’re a Vulcan, aren’t you?”
“This is Mr. Tuvok, my chief of security,” explained Janeway as the man pumped Tuvok’s hand. “And you are ... ?”
“Bailey,” the man said, and grinned again. “I’m Bailey. Say, I don’t mean to impose, but could we get a bite to eat somewhere?”
The mess hall of Voyager was awash with people, most of whom tried politely not to stare at the old man in the white metallic outfit as they rushed by. But Bailey was barely aware of their efforts, or even of any specific person or thing that he encountered for more than a few seconds before his unanchored attention was swept along to the next. He had seemed fascinated by the very corridors through which they’d passed to get there, mere gloss black and battleship gray conduits flowing with crew. Only once had Janeway managed to capture his undivided attention, by mentioning his now-lost ship.
“Don’t worry about that,” he’d said, suddenly serious. “I’ll deal with that later. I don’t think it’s in any real danger.”
Now, in Voyager’s mess, Bailey was submerged, temporarily overwhelmed by the swirling currents of the lunch rush. He stood in front of Janeway and Tuvok, just inside the doorway, swaying with the ebb and wash of moving bodies and the low murmuring din of the wide-windowed room, with his grin pasted foolishly across his face, his head oscillating to take in the multicolored lake of the crowd. Neelix spotted them from behind an island of serving trays stacked far too high for his unimpressive stature and darted out to [307] greet them, his chef’s hat jammed firmly down over his head like a large starched sock.
“Captain, I had no idea you’d be here for lunch,” he said, wiping his hands excitedly on a towel, “but you couldn’t have picked a better day! I’m serving a light salad of horva greens and kanda roots with vinaigrette—an old Talaxian recipe, and the perfect thing for the officer on the go.” He nudged her and winked knowingly, and began to lead her over to the front of the serving line. “There’s Gorandian pot pies, served piping hot and packed with fresh vegetables harvested just this morning from our hydroponics bay. And might I recommend with them some of the excellent nalxak soup, a traditional lunchtime standard in every Talaxian household. Why, I remember my mother calling us in for nalxak every day for an entire summer, and we never stopped running as fast as we could to get it! And if that weren’t the perfect lunchtime menu already—”
“Could I get something from your, what do you call them—food slots?” asked Bailey.
Neelix stopped, puzzled, and then reeled as if a slow poison had suddenly taken effect. He staggered and slowly, dazedly turned toward the old man. The hand with which he’d been guiding Janeway now seemed more like the claw of some stricken seabird as it gripped her arm, digging into it with a desperate and fading strength.
“You mean the replicator?” Neelix’s voice was almost too small to be heard, and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing.
“No offense,” said Bailey. “All that stuff sounds great. But I think I’d like something from the replicator.”
[308] For a moment Janeway thought she was going to have to grab Neelix by both arms to keep him from pitching to the floor face first. But the stalwart chef rallied, regained his composure in a frosty breath. He pulled himself up to his full height, only half a head shorter than Bailey, and stared icily into the old man’s face. Bailey looked as though he were about to say something, but thought better of it.
Janeway put herself between the two of them and looked Neelix squarely in the eye. “I think a salad would be wonderful right now,” she said, steering him back toward the serving line, “and that nalxak soup sounds like the perfect follow-up. Tuvok, you can show Mr. Bailey where the, ah ...” She hesitated to say the word in front of Neelix, who was still staring cold murder at Bailey over his shoulder as she pushed him back behind the counter.
“Of course, Captain,” said Tuvok coolly. “This way, Mr. Bailey.”
A bank of replicators lined the far wall of the mess hall, a fortunate distance from the serving line. Bailey watched the ensign ahead of him request a drink, then stepped up to the little alcove himself.
“I don’t need any kind of ...” He left the question unfinished and looked at Tuvok, indicating some sort of object with his hands. Tuvok raised his eyebrow and looked back at him without comprehension.
“Simply state the food or beverage you desire, along with any appropriate qualifying parameters,” instructed the Vulcan. “If the template exists within the computer’s memory banks, it will be replicated.”
Bailey turned toward the machine. “Chicken-fried steak. Mashed potatoes with cream gravy. Green peas.” The [309] control panel beeped, and neon blue energy coalesced inside.
By the time Janeway made her way to the table with her salad and soup, Bailey was more than halfway through the steak and had made a sizable dent in the potatoes. As she sat down he stabbed another forkful of gravy-drenched meat into his mouth, and his eyes rolled back toward the ceiling.
“Sometimes you don’t know what you’re missing,” he said after finally swallowing.
Janeway straightened the napkin on her lap and gazed purposefully across the table. “I’m glad you approve of our fare, Mr. Bailey. But now I believe there’s the matter of some unanswered questions.”
“I’ll say there is,” agreed the visitor, loading another fork and targeting it for launch. “How the deuce did a Starfleet vessel end up all the way out here, anyway?”
“He’s a master, I’ll admit that,” said Janeway, her face clouded. She was sipping coffee in the briefing room while Tuvok stood stiffly across from her. Bailey was somewhere else in the ship, getting the visitors’ tour from Commander Chakotay.
Janeway was attempting to analyze her conversation with the strange old man and making little progress. She had spent just over an hour in the mess hall chatting with Bailey, and it was only after they had left that she realized she still knew almost nothing about him. Her question-and-answer session had been just that—all questions for her, all answers for him. She sighed.
“An hour with the man, and all I can remember is finding out that he’s from Kansas,” she said. She sipped again and looked at Tuvok. “On the other hand, I believe I gave him a [310] pretty thorough primer on the last eighty years of Federation history. I’d say we didn’t get as much out of that as I had hoped.”
“Do not sell yourself short,” responded the Vulcan. “It was an excellent primer on Federation history. However, I did observe a pattern to Mr. Bailey’s questions and responses, from which I believe we can deduce a greater body of information than that which he volunteered.”
Thank heaven for his steel-trap mind, thought Janeway. “Please,” she said aloud, and motioned for him to continue.
“First,” he ticked off, “Mr. Bailey is obviously from human space. He did not ask for clarification of any terms you used or planets you indicated, and his questions showed an extensive knowledge of Earth and the various races and core worlds of the Federation, up to a point. His knowledge was not particularly current—his questions regarding the Klingon Empire show that to be true—but he shows every sign of having been raised in Federation space.
&
nbsp; “Second, he is not particularly interested in this vessel as a military presence. He asked nothing about its armament and showed little interest in its propulsion system.”
“Although I recall talking to him about it,” said the captain dourly.
“About recent advancements in the physics, yes,” confirmed Tuvok. “But he asked about that only after you revealed that warp physics was your preferred area of study. I suspect it was a ploy to keep you talking and off-guard—speaking about something you enjoy.”
“It certainly worked. So he’s not a military man.”
“I did not say that,” said Tuvok. “On the contrary, he showed a great deal of interest in Voyager’s personnel, [311] mission, operating parameters, and contact protocols, and seemed to have an innate knowledge of how a vessel of this size is run and of the training and drills involved in maintaining readiness. And,” he added meaningfully, “he referred specifically to Starfleet, before anyone else with whom he has had contact.”
Janeway looked up. “Perhaps the Doctor ... ?”
“I checked with him. The term was not mentioned. And I also confirmed that there was no trace of radiation upon him when he was initially beamed to sickbay.”
The captain gazed thoughtfully at the reflection of her coffee mug in the glossy black surface of her desk. “I wonder if I’ve made some type of mistake,” she said. “Given away too much. I feel as though he put me under some kind of a spell.”
“Very unlikely,” Tuvok reassured her. “Mr. Bailey is an extremely skilled conversationalist. His ability to direct a dialogue speaks of years of practice combined with innate skill.” He raised his eyebrows puzzlingly. “I admit, I found myself caught up in the proceedings even as I observed him. I was tempted to join the conversation also, to ‘put in my two cents’ worth,’ so to speak. He is a very open, likable man.”
The captain smiled. “About whom we still know almost nothing. Institute a search of the ship’s database—if he grew up in Federation space, we should have some record of him.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Computer,” she said to the console, “where is Mr. Bailey now?”
“Mr. Bailey is with Commander Chakotay in the mess hall,” said the mechanical voice.
“I might have known,” said Janeway, standing up and [312] straightening her tunic. “Mr. Tuvok, you have the conn. Call me if you find anything.”
“She ran her own little shop in this tiny corner, just off the central plaza near the Street of Menders,” Neelix was saying. “The order the spices are put in is the secret. You see—”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” said Janeway, standing just behind the cook. Across the table Chakotay looked slightly startled. Neelix swiveled in his seat to look at her, an intense little smile cutting across his round face.
“Captain Janeway! Not at all, not at all,” he said jovially. “I was just telling Mr. Bailey here about how I got the recipe for the Atekian apple pie.”
“It really is excellent,” said Bailey, happily severing another chunk from an exceptionally large slice on his plate. “You’ve sure done a lot of traveling, especially to get this much expertise.”
Neelix shook his head with as much modesty as he could manage to scrape together. “Well, I don’t like to brag,” he offered, and the truth nearly snapped under the strain.
Bailey smiled admiringly around a mouthful of pie. “That place you were telling me about—the mining colony.”
“Cetelvia,” Neelix said, his voice growing low and dramatic. “Now there’s a place you don’t want to go without a plan. I was only there for four weeks, but let me tell you—”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to commandeer our guest, Mr. Neelix,” broke in Janeway. “We have some unfinished business to attend to.”
“Oh,” said Neelix, crestfallen. “Of course, Captain.”
“I promise to get him back as soon as I can,” she reassured.
[313] “Maybe for dinner.” Bailey grinned.
Neelix brightened immediately. “Oh, you wouldn’t want to miss that! Tonight it’s Karavian spun casserole made with real sefa noodles, and fresh-baked wheat bread! I learned to make it on board a Karavian mercenary cruiser—”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” said Chakotay, hustling Bailey out of the room in front of him.
“Nice meeting you!” called Bailey over his shoulder, and then they were gone.
Janeway was sure that Bailey was at a disadvantage shut in the briefing room with her and Chakotay. She was astonished that she still didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with him.
“The point,” she heard herself saying, “is that I’m beginning to feel you’ve taken advantage of our hospitality.” How had she gotten so far off track? She had asked him about his ship, and he had said something about Voyager, and then—
“I didn’t mean to take advantage of you,” Bailey apologized. “It’s just so nice to see some human faces for a change. A whole ship full of people like myself ...”
“Exactly how long has it been since you were around other humans?” asked Chakotay, seizing on the statement.
Bailey grinned. “A long time. Longer than you’ve been out here.”
“Exactly how long is that?” Janeway asked.
“You said it’s been about two years,” said Bailey. “Since Mr. Chakotay’s ship was destroyed, and the Array that brought you here. You said there was another one out there somewhere?”
[314] “Not how long we’ve been out here,” said Janeway, “how long you’ve been out here.”
“I just entered this sector of space a few days ago,” said Bailey. “I haven’t been in this area all that long at all. In fact, I could use some advice on where to stop off for supplies.”
Janeway irritatedly tried to remember what her original question was, and found that she couldn’t. She turned back toward their guest, who looked at her with rapt attention. She brushed her hand across her forehead and counted to five.
“Mr. Bailey, I believe you are the most evasive person I have ever met.”
Bailey looked hurt. “Captain, I’ve tried to—”
“Save it. If it’s not a straight answer, I don’t want to hear it, and I haven’t heard one yet.” She dropped into the chair behind her desk and eyed their visitor. He sat quietly and did not appear the least bit nervous. He looked back at her with sharp blue eyes, pale and unreadable. A Mona Lisa smile graced his thin, wrinkled lips.
“Who are you, really?” she asked.
“I’m Bailey,” he said. “Really.” He ran his finger absently across the blue stone in the metallic ornament on his collar. “All right, so I may have been a little standoffish. But first things first. I need my ship back.”
Janeway and Chakotay looked at each other.
“That may not be possible,” Chakotay said. “It was heavily damaged when we found you, and was confiscated by the Mondasians just after we beamed you off. It’s probably light-years from here by now, if it’s still in one piece.”
“Regardless,” said Janeway, “Voyager is not going back into Mondasian space. I won’t endanger my crew again for your convenience. I’m afraid you’re stuck here with us, at [315] least for the time being.” The comm whistled, and she touched the panel. “Janeway here.”
“Captain, there are a number of ships approaching,” said Tuvok. “They are on an intercept course, and heading this way at upwards of warp 7.”
“On my way,” said Janeway and headed out the door and onto the bridge, followed closely by Chakotay and Bailey.
“I’m reading one small ship, followed by several larger vessels,” Tuvok reported. “They are changing course to follow our movements. Just coming into visual range now.”
“On-screen,” said the captain.
A tiny dot appeared in the center of the starfield. It grew brighter with each passing second, but did not seem to get any larger.
“Can we outrun them?” asked Janeway.
�
��Negative,” said Tuvok. “The small lead ship is moving at nearly warp 9. The pursuing ships ...” He checked his sensor displays. “They are Mondasian assault ships. Seven in number.”
The blunt front ends of the assault ships came into focus, their silvery hulls reflecting the white light of the rogue star they pursued They were some distance behind it and seemed to be slowly losing the race, but a long way from giving up.
“Red Alert,” commanded Janeway, and the klaxon hooted briefly to life around them.
“ETA to intercept by the lead ship, forty seconds,” said Paris at the helm. “ETA for the Mondasian cruisers, three minutes.”
On-screen the shining lead ship at last resolved itself into [316] a cluster of brightly glowing orbs. The dazzling little soap bubble closed on Voyager and fell into place beside it, pacing the larger ship perfectly and dimming a bit to a neon red-orange glow. Janeway looked at the screen, and then looked accusingly at Bailey.
“Sorry,” said Bailey sheepishly.
“Mondasian ships still closing,” said Tuvok. “They are slowing and powering up weapons.”
“Open a channel,” said Chakotay.
“They are not responding to hails,” said the Vulcan. “They are moving into an attack formation.”
“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble,” said Bailey, and Janeway tore herself away from the screen to look at him as he spoke. He looked at her plaintively.
“When you showed up in response to my signal ... well, I figured the Mondasians could wait. But it looks like they’re not real patient.” He grinned again, the lines spreading out from the corners of his mouth like ripples from a pond. “Ah, to hell with them. They don’t even drink coffee.” He fingered the stone on his collar again.
“I’m in trouble,” he said to the air, “and so are my friends here. Could you come and get me?”
On the screen the assault ships began to close, their stubby gun mounts softly leaking excess energy like saliva from a hungry dog’s lips. They looked to attack in two waves, the first of which would surely shatter Voyager’s shields like a dome of glass. The second would leave only wreckage.
STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds I Page 26
