The only additional data Picard was able to obtain was the number of the Voyager's current Alliance crew: thirty Klingons, forty-two Cardassians, three Bajorans, and twenty-four Thetas. The Thetas, Neelix explained, were Terran and Vulcan slaves who had earned trustee status. Their number included the mirror-universe counterpart of Tom Paris, who had posed as the Voyager's commander.
As Picard paused to collect his thoughts, Neelix commented, "I never knew the ship's computer could do all that."
Picard was intrigued. "Have you never heard Gul Rutal address the computer?"
Neelix shook his head. "She gives it simple commands— activate this, initiate that—but to get information, she always uses a keypad or console."
Picard found that to be incredibly useful information. It was entirely possible that because the Alliance had built this duplicate from schematics they had had no role in creating, they might not be aware of all the subsystems and capabilities that were available to them. Clearly, they understood how the intraship communications system worked, because they had locked out the ability for prisoners to talk with each other.
But what other systems mightn't they understand? Or perhaps not even know about?
There was one quick way to find out.
"Computer," Picard said. "Activate the Emergency Medical Hologram."
Neelix stared at Picard in horror. "Are you mad?"
The holographic doctor resolved beside the diagnostic bed like a genie rising from a bottle.
"Please state the nature of your interrogation requirements," the doctor said brightly.
Here goes, Picard thought. "Your interrogation subroutine is not required at this time. I need access to your main medical routine."
The hologram nodded once. "Certainly." Then he gazed off at nothing in particular for a moment, as if resetting something internal. "In that case, please state the nature of the medical emergency."
Picard smiled. He had made the program cycle away from whatever overlay the Alliance had added to make it an implement of torture. A plan took form, but it all depended on whether or not the Alliance had made other alterations in the EMH program.
"Do you know who I am?" Picard asked.
The doctor appeared annoyed by the question. "According to the ship's registry of senior Starfleet officers, you're Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Are you suffering from memory loss?"
"Who are you?"
The hologram narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I am the Emergency Medical Hologram. Are you experiencing difficulties with your eyesight?"
"Where are we?"
With an expression of unalloyed exasperation, the doctor picked up a medical tricorder and began to play it over Picard. "We're on the Starship Voyager. Odd . . . I'm not detecting any cranial injuries."
"You won't," Picard said, still wondering if his plan would work. But since the EMH appeared to be functioning according to Starfleet design specs, he saw no reason why the plan shouldn't. "I'm absolutely fine."
"I'll be the judge of that," the doctor said. He frowned at the tricorder readings. "You're suffering from dehydration, adrenaline intoxication . . . Your stress readings are off the chart. . . ." The EMH peered at Picard in troubled concern. "What have you been doing?"
Picard was intrigued. By stripping away the EMH's interrogation overlay, he apparently had erased the EMH's memory of having tortured him. Clearly the Alliance did not grasp Starfleet's methods of systems integration. "Can you give me anything?" Picard asked.
"Certainly. Sound medical advice. What you need is rest."
Keeping his voice under control, Picard gently asked, "Then, can I return to my quarters?"
"I see no reason why not." The EMH snapped his tricorder shut. "Perhaps next time you decide to waste my programming time, you could arrange to be in actual need of medical attention?"
"Ah, Doctor, just one thing. . . ."
The EMH sighed. "It's always one more thing with you people, isn't it?"
Picard moved his hands against his wrist restraints. "I need these taken off."
The doctor looked at the restraints. "May I ask why you're wearing them?"
Picard nodded his head at Neelix. "He did it. He claims it's . . . a new form of treatment for . . . stiff muscles."
The EMH glared at Neelix. "I see. And are you a physician?"
"No, sir," Neelix said nervously.
"Chiropractor? Physiotherapist? Somatician?"
"Oh, no, not at all."
"A Healer of the Vulcan School? Aural aligner? Midwife?"
Neelix's chin hung down on his chest. "No, sir. . . ."
"Dentist?"
Neelix silently shook his head, and Picard was grateful that the alien was going along with his ruse.
The EMH pressed the disconnect controls on the diagnostic bed's restraints. "Then I'd prefer you stay out of my sickbay with your . . . questionable theories."
Picard sat up, trying to keep his relief disguised. The last thing he needed was for the EMH to try and correlate the ship's registry of senior Starfleet officers with his medical records and stumble upon a reference to Picard, Jean-Luc, under "prisoners."
The EMH looked expectantly at Picard. "One more thing, perhaps?"
"No, that's fine. You've been very helpful."
The doctor frowned. "I live to serve. If it's not too much trouble . . . ?"
"Computer," Picard said as he at last stood up. " Deactivate the EMH."
"You're so kind," the doctor muttered, then rippled and faded from view.
Neelix stared at Picard in awe. "Very impressive, Captain."
"Let's hope Voyager has a few more surprises the Alliance doesn't know about." He straightened his tunic, paused a moment to see if the dizziness he felt would worsen. But it didn't. He felt light-headed, but it wasn't debilitating. He motioned for Neelix to come closer.
"What is it?" the alien asked.
"If I could get you off this ship, away from the Alliance, would you help me?"
Neelix rubbed at his twitching eye. "You don't even have to ask, Captain. You escaped while I was supposed to be guarding you. Gul Rutal . . . she'll kill me anyway."
Picard put his hand on the Talaxian's shoulder. "I promise you, she won't."
Neelix stood a little taller. "I'll do . . . whatever you say. Captain."
"Good man," Picard said. "Computer, who is the current captain of the Voyager?"
"Captain Kathryn Janeway has not yet reported for duty. No other officer has been assigned in her place."
Picard smiled. All of the Voyager's programming had been built into this version. He was halfway home. "Computer, this is Picard, Jean-Luc. Activate Emergency Fleet Access Program Alpha Alpha One Alpha."
"Emergency Fleet Access Program initiated. You have one hour to comply with Starfleet regulations."
"All further communications with me are to be encrypted."
"Acknowledged."
Picard saw Neelix's questioning look.
"In times of war or other emergency," Picard explained, "ships can sometimes lose their command crews, and command crews can lose their ships. So Starfleet has established procedures by which crews can quickly shift command authority from ship to ship. Gul Rutal has made it much simpler by having never established her command posting with the computer according to Starfleet protocol. She just didn't know about it."
Neelix's eyes widened. "So you've taken control of Voyager? As quickly as that?"
"No," Picard said. "It's not that easy. Even without the computer acknowledging a previous commander for Voyager, I'll still need confirmation authority from Starfleet Command. Since the computer has given me an hour, that means there should be a starbase within thirty-minute, subspaceradio contact of our present position. But in the meantime, for the next hour at least, the computer will recognize me as Voyager's acting captain and allow me to take certain limited actions in preparation of assuming full control."
"What sort of actions?" Neelix looked excited, and Picard decided it must be a
Talaxian trait that their emotions were so clearly displayed, almost like Vulcans in reverse. He found it a refreshing characteristic.
Picard held up a finger, asking for Neelix's indulgence. "Computer, how many guards are posted within visual range of detention cell four?"
"No guards are currently posted within visual range of that cell."
Picard found that unusual. But then, only Neelix had been posted to guard him. Unless . . .
"Computer, is detention cell four under surveillance by security?"
"Affirmative."
Picard felt his stomach tighten. "Computer, is sickbay under surveillance by security?"
"Affirmative."
Picard's thoughts raced. Clearly, sickbay couldn't be under active surveillance, otherwise armed guards would have burst in within minutes of his having activated the EMH. But when the Cardassians and Klingons discovered he was missing and replayed the surveillance logs, they'd hear every word of explanation he had said to Neelix.
"Computer, delete all surveillance logs of sickbay, from the time code in which I was brought in."
"Unable to comply. Surveillance logs can only be deleted by order of Gul Rutal."
" Merde," Picard said. There had to be a way around that restriction. "Computer, as acting commander of the Voyager, I request that all surveillance logs of sickbay since my arrival here be encrypted, coded to my voiceprint alone. Can you comply?"
"Affirmative."
Picard felt he was riding a gravity whip at an amusement center. "Encrypt those logs. Also, encrypt all logs of detention cell four, from this time on."
"Logs encrypted."
"What are you doing?" Neelix asked.
"Being certain no one will be able to trace our movements," Picard explained. He took hold of Neelix's arm. "Computer, initiate site-to-site transport: Picard and Neelix to detention cell four, placing us outside the containment field."
"What's site-to-site transport?" Neelix asked.
Picard felt relieved that before he could answer, sickbay began to dissolve into the sparkling glow of the transporter effect.
A few moments later, the glow faded to be replaced by the bulkheads of Voyager's brig.
Neelix seemed to lose his balance as he clutched at his chest. "In the name of the Great Forest . . ." he whispered.
But Picard ignored him. He looked to his right, where he saw the glow of a forcefield emitter. "Will!" he shouted as he saw Riker, standing up, as close as possible to the field, a handful of other Enterprise crew behind him.
And then Picard realized that Riker was not standing to welcome him, but to warn him.
"Captain! Behind you!"
Picard spun around, a confused Neelix still at his side, to face two Klingon warriors just entering from the corridor. One had already drawn his disruptor.
Picard had only time enough to think what a fool he had been to fall into this trap.
And then the Klingon fired.
NINE
Kirk grabbed the mirror Spock and leapt over the transporter pad to crouch behind it. Despite the weak gravity, the infirm Vulcan moaned as they landed. Kirk kept his head down, reached into his belt pouch for the small cricket phaser he had taken from Janeway.
Then Janeway was beside him, also crouching. She glanced at the tiny weapon. "That won't do any good. They're armored."
Before he could answer, a sparkling column of light formed to Kirk's other side. He glanced up in time to see a Cardassian materialize, a weapon already pointing straight down at Kirk.
No conscious thought was involved in what happened next. It didn't matter that Kirk had been little more than a gentleman farmer for the past year. He lunged up, arms crossed above his head to bring both forearms to bear against the Cardassian's throat.
He felt the heat of a disruptor blast as it fired past him, but it didn't strike.
In the lunar gravity, Kirk flew two meters in the air with the surprised Cardassian, and landed on top of him.
Then there was an explosion behind Kirk, a flare of golden energy, and a blast of debris—the transporter pad, he knew. Whatever escape route Janeway had arranged was now cut off.
But that wasn't the crisis at hand. Kirk took care of that by driving his fist into the Cardassian's face, then swept aside the alien's hand, which still clutched the disruptor.
With his other hand, Kirk fired the small phaser at the Cardassian. The slender beam of phased energy flared against the large black breastplate of the Cardassian's uniform, but had no other effect. Kirk knew that not even a beam to his attacker's exposed head and neck would be effective as long as the antiphaser circuitry in the armor served to deflect the energy.
Then the Cardassian swung up his free hand and grabbed Kirk by the throat. Began to squeeze.
"Die, Terran!" the Cardassian snarled.
Kirk gasped for air but his throat was blocked. If he struck the Cardassian with his left hand, then the Cardassian would be free to use his disruptor. In his right hand, he held only the useless phaser. He was ready to toss it away so he could strike again at his attacker.
But then, Kirk knew, phasers were often good for more than just firing at the enemy.
As his vision clouded with growing darkness and he knew he had only seconds of consciousness remaining, Kirk fired the small phaser into the rocky ground beside the Cardassian.
Where the beam hit, a cloud of molten rock droplets sprayed out, some hitting the Cardassian's exposed flesh.
The alien screamed in pain, but it only served to strengthen his death grip around Kirk's throat.
Kirk heard his heart pounding, saw his field of vision collapsing to a narrow point of light.
There was only one last thing to try—and he didn't even know if it was still possible in this new age.
Kirk fumbled with the cricket phaser, pressed what he still hoped was the safety interlock, then ran his thumb along its side to set it for full energy discharge.
Through the thunderous roar of his heartbeat, Kirk heard the telltale whine of an overload begin.
With the last of his strength, the last of his consciousness, Kirk jammed the small phaser down the gaping front of the Cardassian's chestplate.
Instantly, he felt the pressure on his neck disappear as the Cardassian bucked him off.
Kirk flailed through the air, rolled onto the freezing ground, saw the Cardassian tearing at his chestplate as the whine built and built and—
The Cardassian's armor bulged as if it had been suddenly overpressurized just as a flare of golden energy shot up through the neck opening.
The tiny phaser had exploded, and the Cardassian's armor had contained almost all of the phased energy of that burst, directing it inward.
As Kirk rubbed at his throat, he saw there was little of his attacker left, except for that smoking armor.
For an instant, he felt the familiar adrenal rush of knowing he had achieved victory—a response that was purely emotional. And then, unexpectedly, he was filled with regret.
Another intelligent being had just died at his hands.
Then Kirk felt another hand grip his shoulder and haul him to his feet, spinning him around so suddenly that a far-too-frequent shock of pain snapped through his lower back.
As Kirk faced the second Cardassian to grab him, he could make no effort to defend himself. The pain from his back was making it impossible to breathe, impossible to move.
The Cardassian raised a disruptor to Kirk's face, then hesitated.
The gray-skinned alien peered closely at Kirk, eyes opening wide.
"Tiberius . . . ?" he whispered.
Then Kirk's attacker's eyes rolled up in his head as he dropped his disruptor and slumped to the ground, the mirror Spock's hand firmly gripping his shoulder.
Kirk winced in a spasm of pain, knowing that only the weak lunar gravity was allowing him to remain standing with what had happened to his back.
"Good work," Kirk gasped. He knew he should be looking around for other attackers, but he w
as a prisoner in his own body, completely immobilized.
The mirror Spock released the unconscious Cardassian at his feet, then flexed his hand as if he had strained it. He raised an eyebrow at Kirk. "Are you injured?"
"No," Kirk said, then flinched as he tried to nonchalantly shake his head. He could hear Teilani berating him for not taking better care of himself, for not trusting in modern medicine.
"Ah," the mirror Spock said, "your back."
"That's only two Cardassians," Kirk said, barely able to make his voice rise above a whisper. "Aren't there two more?"
Janeway stepped up beside Kirk, wiping the blood from a Klingon mek'leth. "Not anymore," she said. Then she expertly flipped the short sword around and slapped it against a sheath on her leg, so that the sheath closed over it like a thick liquid.
"How's your Vulcan friend?" Kirk asked.
"Her name is T'Val," Janeway said. "She'll recover."
"Good."
Janeway's eyes bore into Kirk's. "No thanks to you." She looked at the mirror Spock. "The platform is beyond repair. We're going to have to use the secondary—and quickly. Before someone realizes these four haven't reported in."
"We will need T'Val's medkit first," the mirror Spock said. "Captain Kirk is quite incapable of moving."
Janeway regarded Kirk as if he were a malingerer.
"My back," Kirk said, embarrassed by his weakness.
"Just a minute," Janeway sighed. Kirk heard her walk over to the ruined transporter pad, but couldn't turn his head to watch her. So he and the mirror Spock stared at each other. Kirk could sense they shared the same sense of mystery and confusion. He kept reminding himself that this was not his old friend, and hoped that the mirror Spock kept reminding himself that Kirk was not his old enemy.
"I've dropped into the middle of a war, haven't I?" Kirk asked.
"A war of your causing, correct," the mirror Spock replied.
"Then 'dropped' isn't the word for it. You came looking for me."
"Correct again. I must say, I am impressed at your facility with logic."
Kirk raised an eyebrow at the Vulcan in what he hoped was a recognizable imitation. "Taught by an expert."
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