“Long-range sensors haven’t detected any Borg ships in the area. The threat isn’t from a cube; it’s from something right here on Earth. It’s not assimilation in the sense that we’re familiar with the term—no drones beaming down and sticking their tubes into people, then hauling them off and severing limbs and replacing eyes.”
Libby shuddered. She’d never met a Borg, thank God, but Harry had told her the stories, and that was enough for her to sense how utterly terrifying the creatures were.
“It appears to be a virus of some sort, and as with most viruses, it targets those who have the least well developed immune systems. Children, old people, the ill. Thus far, anyway.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“There’s every evidence that it’s only a matter of time before healthy adults who have contracted this—this disease will succumb. It’s taking longer because their immune systems can fight off what the body sees as an infection, but I fear these twenty-three cases are just the first small wave.”
“Twenty-three?” Covington seemed startled. “I had no idea it was that many. I’d heard reports of only about seven.”
Montgomery glowered. “We had seven confirmed outbreaks at the time I sent out the report. Now that we know what to look for, we’ve been able to isolate and [234] quarantine twenty-three cases and their immediate families in various places across the globe. Which is where you come in.”
Covington arched an eyebrow.
“All of this started when Voyager docked here on Earth. Not a minute before and only a month afterward. That ship is crammed to the gills with technology we don’t understand, including several Borg modifications.” Montgomery made a face. “To think that that Janeway woman collaborated with the Borg ... it’s enough to make your stomach turn. Especially now that they’re responsible for bringing the Borg to Earth. We’d kept the planet safe, until now.”
“Do you have direct evidence that this was caused by Voyager?”
“I’ve got enough to go on. We can track one infected child directly to Janeway. Besides, what else could it possibly be? Too bad the Borg Entreaty got shot down. We could use it now. I’ve got thirty people working on creating cover stories alone. The Xakarian flu story is still holding water, but it won’t for much longer.”
“Yes,” drawled Covington. “That pesky free press.”
“You can’t tell me the head of Sector 001 Covert Ops wouldn’t be glad of the Borg Entreaty along about now.”
“From what I hear, you don’t need the Borg Entreaty to haul people in and keep them imprisoned without charges.”
“Damn right. We’re at war with the Borg, and Starfleet deems these people enemy combatants until we know for sure they’re not.”
Libby knew her mouth was hanging open in [235] astonishment. Everyone knew about the failed Borg Entreaty of 2367. It had been one of the most passionate, heartbreaking speeches ever given in Federation history, hard on the heels of the Borg attack on Wolf 359. There had been a wave of panic and fear that had swept through the Federation following that disastrous incident, and when the widow of a Starfleet junior officer who had been killed there had spoken from her full and breaking heart, everyone had been inclined to sympathize.
Julie Elliot and her husband had been young, just recently married, and Julie had learned two days before her husband’s death that she was pregnant.
Her heartfelt plea, known as the Borg Entreaty, had been eloquent and poignant. At the core of it, it begged to enact a waiver of the rights due Federation citizens if any Borg involvement or influence was suspected. Anyone could be arrested and detained for the course of a full year without specific charges being filed if sufficient evidence could be provided that the individual was being manipulated by the Borg. It was odd, to have such a lyrical, famous speech plead not for freedoms, but for imprisonment and a waiving of inherent rights.
While Elliot’s tearful words had fallen on sympathetic ears, and the Borg were dreadful and terrifying, the motion had not passed. It was too much, even for that emotional time.
So this was what had happened to Harry, to Tom and to Lyssa and the other hundred and fifty or so people who had served loyally for seven years on Voyager. Her lover and friends had been hauled off to prison, just because this pompous Starfleet—
[236] “And of course, we’re going to need your agents to find out who they had contact with.”
“What?” cried Covington, starting up in her chair.
“You heard me. I need Covert Ops to start tracking down everyone every Voyager crew member had contact with from the minute they beamed on Earth.”
Libby had never seen Covington at a loss for words before. “You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, “that you want my agents assigned to finding out every single person that every single Voyager crew member made love to, had dinner with, met, shook hands with, or passed on the street over the last six weeks?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“You’re insane. That’s impossible. I haven’t the staff to spare. I’d have to call about half of them out of deep cover and remove them from operations that have been in place for years. Have your staff do the grunt work if you want it done so badly.”
Montgomery smiled, then handed her a padd. “These are your orders from the president,” he said. “You are to comply with everything I’ve asked of you. This is a Federation-wide threat, not a Starfleet internal problem. You find the civilians. My people will handle the Starfleet personnel.”
Judging by Covington’s expression as she perused the padd, the order was genuine.
“And by the way, you commandeered Trevor Blake some time ago. I want him back.”
Covington seemed to be having difficulty controlling her emotions. “Blake has been assigned to Covert Operations. He’s not completed his mission with me yet.”
[237] “Didn’t you hear what I said? You are to comply—”
“You’re in my realm now, Montgomery,” snarled Covington, looking like a tiger. “You want Blake? You get the president to order him off his assignment. You don’t get to do it. Blake’s needed here.”
“What the hell is a scientist needed for Covert Operations for over four years?” Montgomery exploded. “I need him on my team! Tell me why you need him so badly and maybe I’ll reconsider.”
Covington stiffened, her slim body as rigid as if it were made of metal.
“That’s classified information, on a need-to-know basis. And you, my old friend, don’t need to know.”
“Why all this secrecy? Why are you hiding this from me?”
She smiled, nastily. “That’s why it’s called Covert Operations, you—” With a huge effort, she got herself under control. For a long moment, they stood glaring at each other. Finally, Montgomery straightened to his full height.
“Start with the command crew first—Janeway, Chakotay, and so on.” He rose. “I look forward to reading your report as soon as you know anything.”
It was a dismissal, and both Libby and Covington knew it. Libby’s cheeks burned with embarrassment for her boss, but Covington’s pale face didn’t change color.
“If you’re trying to keep this quiet,” she said, “this is a pretty poor way to go about it.”
“We’re playing up the HoloStrike,” said Montgomery. “That’s enough to keep people’s attention focused. And I trust you and your agents to be discreet in [238] your assignments. Also, tell your people to be watchful for the symptoms. The Borg virus isn’t immediate; it can take a while before it manifests completely. They should watch for fever, lack of energy, and loss of appetite.”
Libby thought that the symptoms were vague enough to describe a few dozen harmless conditions and wondered how many people dealing with a simple bug were now going to be imprisoned for the bad luck of getting sick.
“Good-bye, Brenna.” He left.
Covington watched him go, her eyes boring holes in his back. Libby heard the hiss of the door closing. Covington to
ok a deep breath and touched the controls on her desk.
“Did you get all that, Agent Webber?” she asked.
Libby had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes, ma’am. Indeed I did.”
“It answers the question of what happened to Mr. Kim. And it certainly temporarily removes many people who could stand in the way of someone trying to deliver Voyager’s technology to the Orion Syndicate. Hell, for all we know, the Syndicate could even be behind the virus.”
“Montgomery is growing increasingly powerful,” said Libby quietly. “There aren’t many who can stand in his way right now. All he has to do is point a finger and suddenly they’re in prison.”
“It’s an alarming thought,” agreed Covington.
“Ma’am ... are you really going to take your agents off deep-cover assignments?”
“I’ll do what I have to do, Agent Webber, as will you.”
[239] Libby nodded. “Shall I turn myself in, then?”
Covington considered. “No, not just yet. I know where I can find you. I want you to stick to Montgomery. Watch him. Of course, I can’t ask you to hinder the investigation.”
“Of course not,” Libby said dutifully. But the implication was there. “Do you—how long do you think they’ll hold the Voyager crew?”
“I don’t know. I’m guessing not long, especially if they want to keep this hush-hush. It’s probably just a matter of asking them questions and running tests. But we’ll have to see.”
Libby returned to perusing old reports with a renewed vigor. She now had a personal grudge against Admiral Kenneth Montgomery, the traitorous mole who had imprisoned her beloved, and she was going to see that the bastard was brought down.
Chapter 19
IT HAD BEEN A LONG NIGHT, but Li Wu was only moderately tired. A night of brisk business always energized him. The rain had cleared up shortly after Libby Webber had given up on her date—Li would never stand her up if he were dating her—and the Green Dragon hummed with activity well into the small hours of the morning.
Wang had gone home around eleven-thirty, after bidding the last guests good night. Li Wu had stayed to make sure the kitchen was properly cleaned up, the dining area spotless in anticipation of the crowds that would start showing up tomorrow for lunch, and that in general all was in order. He had closed up the shop and was about a quarter of the way home when it started raining again.
He swore. He’d left his umbrella in the ceramic, dragon-shaped stand by the door. Stupid San Francisco [241] weather. Sighing, Li turned up his collar against the cold splash of the raindrops and half-ran back to the restaurant.
He had just opened the door and was reaching for the umbrella when the Green Dragon exploded.
When Janeway entered the prison’s sickbay, she was prepared for anything, except what she got.
She and her entire crew had been treated with suspicion and thinly veiled hostility. Only the command crew had been informed as to why they were arrested and brought in, and they had been ordered to secrecy. She was pleased that Montgomery seemed a bit embarrassed, but not mollified in the slightest. In fact, she was outraged. If any crew in Starfleet had reason to hate the Borg and to want to keep them away from Earth, it was Voyager’s. They were being treated like common criminals, summarily hauled in and grilled. It was the opposite of what should have been done. There were three people in prison who knew the Borg better than anyone, and one of those had more medical knowledge than any other ten doctors combined.
There were too many things she didn’t know, either, and that angered her as well. She knew that somehow, Kevin Johnson had been turned into a partial Borg, and that he and his family had disappeared. Where, she didn’t know. Allegedly they and Molly were under quarantine, but she wasn’t sure if she believed that.
She didn’t know if Kevin was the only one, or if Borg were spontaneously popping out of every gopher hole from San Francisco to China. She didn’t know [242] why Seven and Icheb were suspected or if they would ever be released.
So when she walked into sickbay, it was with her head held high, her eyes narrowed in defiance, and a chip on her shoulder the size of a small shuttlecraft.
The doctor had his back to her when she and her “escort” entered. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he said, holding up his left index finger and finishing entering data with his other hand. He turned around and his eyes lit up as he recognized her.
“Admiral Janeway! I’ve so wanted to meet you.” The light in his bright eyes faded somewhat. “Although not under these circumstances. Thank you, Lieutenant, that will do.”
The burly guard left, and the admiral and the doctor stood regarding one another. Janeway had to admit he was strikingly handsome, with his thick, curly dark hair and intense blue eyes. A strong, masculine face with a sensitive mouth was framed by small dots disappearing into his collar. A Trill, then. He extended a hand and indicated the biobed.
“Please, Admiral. I don’t like this any better than you do. I’m sure I won’t find anything to report, so let’s get this over with quickly.”
“Oh, why the rush?” said Janeway acidly. “I’m in no real hurry to get back to my cell.”
“If I don’t find anything, Admiral,” said the doctor, “then you’ll be released.”
Janeway raised an eyebrow, trying not to hope too hard. “In that case. ...” She hopped up onto the biobed.
“Thank you.” He picked up a medical tricorder. “My [243] name is Jarem Kaz. I’m very sorry for what you and your crew has had to go through, but it really was necessary.”
“Was it?” she challenged him. He didn’t meet her eyes. “The command staff was informed that the Borg are somehow involved,” she continued, watching him closely for his reaction. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fill me in on any further details about what’s been going on.”
Kaz smiled, ruefully, Janeway thought. “I wish I could, believe me. What’s happening here is frightening on a variety of levels.”
“You speak pretty freely for a top-level security clearance doctor,” Janeway said.
Again, Kaz smiled, his eyes on the instrument. “One of my former hosts was the equivalent of a Poet Laureate on Trill, and the one after that was a Maquis. It’s a combination that leads to lots of lyrical free thinking.”
Their eyes met, and Janeway liked what she saw in their blue depths. She returned his smile.
“I gather that all those you’ve previously examined have been permitted to be released? Or did you find a few Borg in my crew?”
“Besides Seven of Nine and Icheb, you mean?”
Janeway stiffened. “They have been liberated from the collective. I’d bet my life that they are not being manipulated by the Borg in any way.”
“And I agree with you a hundred percent,” said Kaz, surprising her. “I’ve said as much to Admiral Montgomery, but my opinion doesn’t seem to be enough to [244] bring about their release, or even get them a regeneration chamber.”
Janeway decided to take the risk. “You said you were a free thinker, Doctor. Are you enough of one to do what’s right?” she challenged.
“Admiral, you know I have my orders.”
“If they involve holding people you know to be innocent who could help you stop a Borg infestation, then they’re stupid orders,” she said, bluntly.
“I’m not privy to everything. There could be logical reasons why Starfleet is proceeding in this manner.”
“Do you really think so?”
His blue eyes told her all she needed to know. The seed of doubt had been planted.
Kaz sighed and stepped back. “Your blood pressure and your heart rate are slightly elevated—no surprise there, considering the circumstances. Your cholesterol has dropped slightly from its baseline. Apparently prison agrees with you.”
“I don’t agree with it,” said Janeway. “As a matter of fact I’m—”
The door hissed open. A guard rushed in. “You need to see this. Both of you.”
&
nbsp; He touched the screen of Kaz’s computer, and an image of Oliver Baines appeared. He was in the middle of a speech.
“... I deeply regret,” he was saying. “But there are always victims in a war, even the most just war. Holograms are not like those who made them. We—they—obtain no pleasure in murder. All of the attacks last night were on buildings that we believed to be empty. If [245] the Federation had responded by calling a council to discuss holographic rights when the HoloStrike first began, as we requested a full three weeks ago, there would have been no need to escalate to violence. We grieve the loss of life, but it will not slow us down. A deleted hologram has the right to be mourned as much as a slain organic. Until we have equality, we will not rest.” He smiled, as if at a joke. “We don’t need to.”
His image disappeared. Janeway whirled on the guard. “He said something about loss of life. What’s happened?”
The guard didn’t reply at first, looking uncertainly at Kaz. Kaz uttered an expletive and said, “I’ve given her a clean bill of health, she’s about to walk out of here a free woman. Talk to us!”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard. “There was a coordinated attack on hundreds of buildings across the world last night. The HoloRevolutionaries under Oliver Baines have claimed full responsibility for it. Eight people were killed. They say that they assumed that the buildings were empty at the time. They were restaurants, theaters, sports arenas—places that used to have holograms but now have living people providing the entertainment. Apparently the attack was not supposed to have resulted in casualties.”
“Intention is all well and good, but when there are dead bodies it goes out the window,” Janeway said, pressing her lips together. “Dammit. Baines should have listened to the Doctor. He’s now a murderer, intentionally or not. Starfleet might have ignored a strike, but they’re not going to ignore corpses.”
Kaz looked troubled. “I agree with you, Admiral.” [246] He turned and regarded her intently. “And I fear for your Doctor.”
So did Janeway.
STAR TREK: VOY - Homecoming, Book One Page 19
