Oh, hell, no! B’Elanna thought.
Her first move was to take her bat’leth in both hands, raising it above her head to defend against a downward swipe. She then twisted the blade to the right, taking some of her opponent’s momentum with her and pulling the warrior slightly off balance. With a painful, crunching turn of her wrist, B’Elanna then jerked her bat’leth free, forcing the woman over to her left. Before she could recover, B’Elanna continued the turn she had begun, bringing her blade low and level as she spun around. The warrior had almost righted herself when B’Elanna’s sword sliced through first one leg, then its mate, just below the knee.
To her credit, the warrior did not cry out despite the agony she must now be suffering as she fell to the floor. B’Elanna didn’t take time to wonder, however, as she had just created the only breach in the line separating herself from her daughter.
But by the time she had cleared her fallen foe, Miral’s captor had clambered through the hole in the wall and disappeared.
B’Elanna stepped through the opening to find herself in a dark, empty hallway. Miral’s cries bounced off the walls around her, and for a disorienting moment, B’Elanna could not find the direction to follow. Within seconds, however, someone else was pushing her way through the wall behind her. It was Logt. The commander paused for a split second, gestured for B’Elanna to go to the left, and took off running full speed down the hallway to the right.
Blade still in hand, B’Elanna ran as if her life depended on it. After about two hundred twisting meters, she realized that she had been sent down the wrong hall. She doubled back, her legs flying beneath her.
The hallway ended in an open door that led to the exterior of the monastery, where the current temperature was well below freezing. Another hundred paces, and she found herself wading through a deep snowbank. Just ahead of her, Kahless, Logt, and their two companions stood motionless in the snow.
B’Elanna reached them, panting so hard it was almost impossible to speak.
“Where?” she gasped helplessly.
Kahless exchanged a look with Logt, who drew the others aside as the emperor moved to B’Elanna, grasping her firmly by the shoulders.
“They are gone,” he said simply, willing her to accept the unacceptable. “They must have had a ship in orbit. We saw them transport away.”
B’Elanna felt her knees jerk beneath her and finally give way. At the same moment, a feral cry rose from her belly and soon her frustrated rage was bounding off the snowy landscape, assaulting the ears of men and beasts for miles around.
When she was spent, there was nothing left but tears. They choked their way up her windpipe and scalded her eyes.
It was Kahless who finally pulled her to her feet, shaking her fiercely.
“B’Elanna Torres, daughter of Miral!” he shouted.
She stared briefly into his face, her vision distorted by tears that continued to fall.
B’Elanna had honestly never given much thought to the emperor. Kahless was a legendary figure, almost a creature of myth. But now, standing in the presence of the clone grown from Kahless’s blood and imprinted with every tale and teaching attributed to the long-dead original, she instinctively understood some of the power of that legend. She understood it, because in some way, he was sharing it with her now, when without it, she would not have been able to stand.
A few deep breaths and the tears stopped. She stood before him and managed a faint nod.
“Better,” Kahless said, his long white hair whipping in the wind that danced around them.
“Come,” he finally said.
“Where?” B’Elanna found voice to ask.
“To find your daughter,” he replied.
CHAPTER THREE
Admiral Janeway was running late. These days, that was not unusual. Thankfully, her new aide, a stern, fair-skinned young Vulcan ensign named Decan, had no trouble at all maintaining his sublimely composed countenance, especially when Kathryn’s was fraying. Decan would never replace her dear friend Tuvok, but she found his mere presence a comforting reminder that finding the calm in the center of a storm was preferable to being tossed about on the winds.
“You have another incoming transmission from Admiral Paris,” Decan advised her evenly as Kathryn searched through a stack of padds, in desperate need of the one that contained her schedule for tomorrow.
“Please inform the admiral that I’ll be transporting over in less than five minutes,” she replied.
“But that would be a lie,” Decan said without a hint of accusation in his voice. “Given the state of your desk and the number of items we have left to discuss, I would estimate you will be unable to leave this office in less than seven point five minutes.”
Kathryn favored him with a smirk. Odds were he was right.
“Then tell him it is my intention to transport over in the next ten minutes.”
“Very well.” Decan nodded before stepping back to his desk outside her office as she turned her attention to a new stack.
No, no, not this one either—but I need to remember to forward that to Admiral Upton, Kathryn said to herself, hoping the mental note would find a place to stick as she tossed aside another set of padds. “Oh, Decan,” she called out, still searching her desk vainly.
Within seconds the ensign appeared, almost startling her. The young man had catlike reflexes, but that hardly explained how he often seemed to simply materialize right in front of her when she needed him most. It was certainly the hallmark of an excellent aide. But it was also the littlest bit creepy. Kathryn found herself wondering whether or not he might have some kind of personal transporter embedded beneath his skin that helped him to create this illusion.
“Contact Reg Barclay and let him know that I’ve reviewed his syllabus for next quarter’s Borg seminar, but I want Seven to take a look before I approve it. I’ll be seeing her tonight, so he’ll probably have her notes before midnight.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Decan replied, reaching for a padd buried beneath the stack she had just created and handing it to her.
Of course, it was the one she had been seeking.
“Thank you, Ensign,” she sighed with relief.
“Do you want me to reschedule your appearance on Illuminating the City of Light?” he asked tactfully.
Janeway realized that the interview, which had been on her agenda for weeks now, conflicted with two other briefings set for the following afternoon.
She nodded. “With my deepest apologies.”
Despite the fact that she could spend another hour working and still not clear her desk, she was more than ready to put this day behind her.
“Which only leaves the request from Captain Eden,” Decan said.
Almost ready.
“What does she want again?”
“Captain Eden has requested a minimum of four hours at your earliest possible convenience. You have rescheduled your appointment with her six times in the last three weeks. She asked me to advise you that at this time, yours is the only interview she still requires in order to complete her report.”
“Right,” Janeway remembered. It wasn’t that she was avoiding the captain, or Project Full Circle. But being an admiral was about prioritizing. And right now her life was only slightly more hectic than running Voyager’s bridge had been the day they had first entered the Delta quadrant.
“See if Captain Eden would be available to meet at 0600 tomorrow. If so, I can give her two hours.”
“I will transmit your proposal and forward her response to you this evening,” Decan replied.
“And the rest will simply have to wait,” she decided. “For the next few hours I don’t wish to be disturbed over anything less than the arrival of a Borg armada in Earth orbit.”
“If you’d like, I could contact the Borg directly and ask that they postpone any imminent actions so as not to spoil your evening,” Decan said deadpan.
Janeway paused for a moment as his words sunk in. Finally, her face broke in
to a wide grin.
“Humor, Ensign?”
The Vulcan acknowledged the question with a slight nod. “Often it provides a welcome release of tension.”
“That it does.” She smiled. “Well done.”
“Enjoy your evening, Admiral,” Decan said.
“I intend to,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Admiral.”
Tom didn’t usually think of himself as a worrier. But right now, he couldn’t help it. B’Elanna and Miral should have transported in over an hour ago. He had already put three calls in to Earth Orbital Control and all they could tell him was that B’Elanna’s shuttle had yet to arrive.
The friends who had assembled at the Paris ranch to greet his wife and child for a small “family” reunion prior to the next day’s festivities were all doing their best to keep his spirits up by trying to pretend that nothing was really wrong. Captain Chakotay and Lieutenant Harry Kim were listening amiably to Voyager’s former EMH as he recounted his most recent clash with one of the Federation Research Institute’s geneticists, a Tellarite named Deegle. Seven of Nine and Tuvok stood nearby, pretending to give the Doctor their full attention but clearly not terribly interested. Poor Seven, who worked with the Doctor at the institute on a daily basis, had probably already heard this particular rant at least a dozen times before.
Tom’s father was in his office, no doubt making someone at Orbital Control’s ears bleed. When Tom hadn’t gotten far in determining just where B’Elanna might be, his father had placed a gentle hand on his arm and told his son, in a voice that could have frozen magma, “Leave this to me,” before disappearing into his private sanctuary.
His mother flitted in and out of the room, checking everyone’s beverages and reminding her guests that a variety of appetizers had been positioned strategically about the living room. A four-course dinner was drying out in the kitchen, but Julia Paris, ever the optimist, smiled warmly at her son each time she caught his eye as if to assure him that any minute now, everything would be fine.
“At which point I tried to tell Deegle that the Oaxacatian genome, while undoubtedly more complex than the Nekrestian, had several shared markers which were worth further study,” the Doctor said plaintively to his captive audience. “And can you imagine what he replied?”
“I can,” Seven of Nine deadpanned.
Both Harry and Chakotay had a hard time biting back their laughter.
“Of course you can, Seven. You were there,” the Doctor replied imperiously.
But before he could continue, Tom’s heart leapt at the sound of the front door chiming.
Tom hurried past his friends, but he was no match for his mother, who, to Tom’s disappointment, was ushering Admiral Janeway into the room, rather than B’Elanna and Miral.
“My apologies, friends,” Janeway said warmly to all before greeting each of those present individually.
Moments later, Owen returned, his face failing miserably to mask his concern.
Tom hurried to his side.
“Well?”
“This is intolerable.” Owen shook his head.
Janeway, ever alert to a sea change in any room’s temperature, turned immediately to her former mentor the moment he entered. She had served with Admiral Paris back when he was a captain and she was a junior science officer.
“Admiral Paris,” Janeway said with a nod as she interrupted.
Owen’s face broke into a rare grin as he opened his arms to Janeway and she shared a brief embrace with him.
“I didn’t think you’d ever get here,” he said warmly.
“I was unavoidably detained.” She smiled in return, then turned more serious as she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Tom and Owen exchanged a look before Owen said, “B’Elanna hasn’t arrived. And now no one can even confirm that her shuttle left Boreth.”
Janeway’s jaw tensed as her mind began to whir.
“You’ve already spoken to the station?” she asked Owen.
He nodded. “Time was, you asked a simple question and you received a simple answer. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what’s happening at Starfleet Academy if these are the cadets they’re graduating. B’Elanna’s shuttle should have departed four days ago, but Earth Orbital Control has no record of the departure or flight plan. They assure me they’ve tried repeatedly to contact Boreth, but have yet to receive a response.”
“So we don’t even know if B’Elanna ever left Boreth?” Janeway asked.
Owen nodded grimly.
“Why somebody didn’t think to contact me…” Tom began.
“You mean, why didn’t B’Elanna contact you?” Janeway asked gently.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Tom shook his head in frustration.
“Well, there’s only one thing to do,” Janeway said, patting Tom gently on the back.
“What’s that?” Owen asked.
“We need to contact the ambassador.”
“Which ambassador?” Tom asked.
“Worf, the Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire,” Janeway replied. “He’ll get to the bottom of this quicker than anyone.”
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” Owen mused as he directed Janeway toward his office.
“Because we’re talking about your daughter and granddaughter, Admiral,” Janeway replied knowingly as she followed him out.
Turning back to the others, Tom noted that Chakotay was now missing as well.
“Where’s the captain?” he asked Harry, who was absent-mindedly moving some cheese and crackers around on his cocktail plate.
“He stepped out. Call from Admiral Montgomery. He’ll be right back,” Harry assured him.
Tom could tell that something was troubling his best friend, probably something more than B’Elanna’s tardiness, but at the moment he was simply too distracted to press further. Knowing Harry, Tom would be the first person he’d confide in when he was ready.
“That is unfair.” Seven’s voice rose above the other murmured conversations.
“It is not,” the Doctor replied.
“To conclude that all Tellarites are ‘pig-headed’ when your interactions with the species have been limited to Doctor Deegle is to prejudge them. It is not worthy of you or them,” Seven insisted.
“Their physical characteristics notwithstanding,” Tuvok added softly.
“Why you insist on defending the man—” the Doctor began, but was interrupted by Chakotay, who strode briskly into the room and made his way straight to Tom.
“What is it, Captain?” Harry asked before Chakotay could speak.
“We’ve received new orders,” Chakotay replied, obviously disconcerted.
“What happened?” Tom demanded, his gut churning with worry that this might be news about his wife and daughter.
“It’s the Changeling,” Chakotay said, defusing one worry while simultaneously creating a new one.
Neither Harry nor Tom needed to ask which Changeling Chakotay was referring to. A few months earlier, Chakotay had been kidnapped and impersonated by a Founder who, in concert with the Cardassian scientist Crell Moset, had almost managed to kill Chakotay and his sister. Moset and the Changeling had been experimenting on a group of colonists on Loran II in hopes of finding a cure for the disease that limited the Changeling’s shape-shifting abilities, and they would have succeeded without Voyager’s intervention.
Before Chakotay could continue, Janeway and Owen returned to the room, trailed by Julia. Everyone gathered around as Janeway announced that she and Admiral Paris had just made contact with Ambassador Worf, who had promised to find out what had happened to B’Elanna’s shuttle and report back to her as soon as possible.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” she added kindly. “There’s really nothing more we can do right now.”
“Perhaps we should all sit down to dinner, then?” Julia said, trying to make this sound like a pleasant suggestion.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Paris,” Chakotay replied, �
�but I’m afraid that Tom, Harry, and I will have to disappoint you.” When everyone in the room had given him their full attention, he quickly briefed his listeners about their new problem. “Apparently, after he escaped from Loran II, the Changeling made straight for Kerovi. He had been impersonating a Kerovian aide for some time, but when he arrived, he murdered the diplomat affiliated with that aide and assumed her identity.”
“I thought he could only impersonate male humanoids,” Harry interrupted.
“We all did.” Chakotay nodded.
“Who was the Kerovian diplomat?” Janeway asked softly.
“Merin Kol,” Chakotay replied.
In response, Janeway raised a hand to massage her forehead and temples.
“Merin Kol is dead?” she asked, her voice heavy.
“I’m sorry, Admiral, she is,” Chakotay replied, briefly placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Chakotay was well aware that for several months prior to their misadventures on Loran II, Janeway had been in serious diplomatic negotiations with Kol. Kerovi was debating leaving the Federation. In fact, they had ultimately decided to secede altogether shortly after the Changeling had escaped. Janeway had felt this failure keenly, and to learn that it might have been instigated by this Changeling was even more disturbing.
“The good news is the Kerovians discovered the deception and were able to capture the Changeling. He is in custody now, and they are putting him on trial for the murder of Merin Kol and her aide.”
“What are your orders?” Janeway asked.
“Voyager is to report to Kerovi as soon as possible. Though they’re no longer members of the Federation, the Kerovians understand that the Changeling compromised our security as well as theirs and are willing to allow us to interrogate him before the trial. They’ve postponed the trial for two weeks to allow us time to get there and debrief him, but in order to maximize our time with him, we need to depart immediately.”
Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle Page 4
