Ethical Considerations 2

Author: J.A. Toner

Janeway exchanges glances with Sam Wildman. "Sounds like more of the ones who attacked us the other day, Harry," the captain said.

:::I don't think so. The way the Pojza described them, these Borg weren't very efficient. They didn't work systematically, as one. The Pojzan say they shouted to each other to communicate. Their gear and outfits sounded pretty ratty, and the Pojzans said they had to clean up their ship after they finally left, because the stink was so bad.:::

"To some races, humans-or even a rose-smell bad."

:::We seem to agree on what does and doesn't smell good, though, Captain. They said it reminded them of the odor of rotting flesh. Pretty gross.:::

Rubbing her forehead to avert the migraine she could feel forming, Janeway sighed. Bad smelling Borg. As if they weren't already a nightmare come to life !

"I'm not eager to run into them again anyway, Harry. I don't think it matters much if they shout each other or smell bad. Not to change the subject, but when do you expect to get back? It sounds like you're going to be gone for several more days."

:::Yes, Captain, with your permission, I'd like to accompany the Pojzan to their sanctuary, to make sure they get there all right. If there are problems with their nav system, I think we can 'lighten' their ship using their own technology so we can use the Flyer's tractor beam to drag them where they need to go.:::

"Permission granted, Ensign Kim," Janeway said, formally, for the benefit of the ship's auto logging system. "And Harry-about the supplies, don't worry about it. We'll take care of our supply situation another day."

:::Thanks, Captain. One last thing. The Pojzan offered to take Angelo's body to New Pojza to 'make him one with the soil.' I told them we're bringing him back with us, in stasis. You agree, don't you?:::

"Do Mr. Lessing or Morrow think he'd prefer to have his body stay with the Pojzan?"

:::Actually, no. Noah says Angelo was from an old Starfleet family. He'd want the photon tube casket shot into space, with the Federation flag on top, and all that. You know-the traditional Starfleet funeral ceremony. It was something they talked about a lot on the Equinox, Noah says. So we planned on bringing his body back to Voyager. There'll be a delay before the service can be held, though, until we get back.:::

"It sounds like Mr. Tessoni wouldn't mind the delay, Harry. Finish your mission. Then we'll worry about ceremonies."

:::That's about it, Captain. I'll check in again at the next scheduled time.:::

"Do that, Ensign. Janeway out."

As Harry's disembodied voice signing off faded, Ensign Wildman unfolded herself from the ready room couch, where she'd seated herself when Harry's call interrupted her conversation with the captain. "After what Harry and the away team have been through, I'm afraid my complaints about Icheb seem pretty silly."

"Not at all. You must realize that if Icheb has invented a weapon with the potential to remove the Borg threat forever, I have to allow him to develop it, for our own safety, as well as for people like Harry's Pojzan. If he's worked on it under false pretenses when he was assigned to research a treatment for Gilmore's and Pierce's comas, however, that's a separate issue. I can't condone dereliction of duty, no matter how valuable this other research might prove to be. I'll call him in and talk about it with him. You were right to come to me."

" Thank you for listening, Captain."

"About that fight with Naomi, though? I'm not sure if I can do anything about that. In fact, it sounds an awful lot like an argument or two I had with my own mother when I was growing up in Indiana, too many years ago for me to even want to count them."

Ensign Wildman sighed, smiling. "Me, too, I'm afraid. It's just so difficult out here. It isn't like any of us can get away from each other when we're traveling on a small ship. We have to work it out somehow. I just wish my husband were here at times like this to share the burden-and the joys, too."

"Of course. You'll find a way to solve your problem, Samantha. I'm sure of it. I can't promise you won't ever argue with your daughter again."

"You'd do better to promise me it will happen again, because I'm sure it will! I'm just not used to thinking of her as an adolescent! But Neelix says I need to."

"And Neelix is usually right about these things!"

After dismissing Ensign Wildman, Janeway stood up to stretch her legs, cramped from spending so much time at her desk while she read reports. Her mind wasn't on reports tonight, however. It was too filled with visions of the dead and living crew of the Equinox, that truly star-crossed ship-far more unlucky than Voyager had been, in truth, although Janeway seldom admitted that to anyone, even herself. Images also appeared of small, blue-skinned humanoids in such desperate straits that only her youngest senior staff officer and his team were in a position to assist, even though his team was now short a member.

Janeway squatted down in the area of her ready room that had sported a hull breach only a couple of days before. She brushed her hand over the carpet, feeling for a seam or fibers out of place, but she could not detect exactly where the intact section ended and the patch began. Somehow, it didn't seem right that no trace remained to remind her where Angelo Tessoni had mended it because his work had been so well done. There was a conundrum for you.

Janeway sighed deeply. From an old Starfleet family. Of course. She knew Giovanna Tessoni. His older sister, perhaps? Maybe his cousin or aunt, but definitely not his mother. Commander Tessoni wasn't old enough to be his mother. She could look it up-too bad she'd never bothered before. What else hadn't she known about him? About any of them?

Janeway hated thinking of "The Odyssey" at times like this, even though she always thought of it whenever a member of her crew was lost. There was a great deal of similarity between that classic tale and Voyager's. It had a satisfactory ending-for Odysseus. He was the only one who made it back home in Homer's epic. That part she didn't like. She despised the ending, in fact, preferring never to think of it because it tormented her with her deepest fear: to get all the way home, but without her crew. That would be a Pyrrhic victory indeed.

Her headache had kicked up a notch. She'd have to replicate herself a suitable remedy or take the time to go to the EMH for an analgesic. Too bad it wouldn't work on the pain in her heart-or her conscience. For that, she'd never found a cure.

As soon as Icheb slumped into Sickbay, Tom knew the young man wasn't in need of a field medic. It was going to be "advice to the lovelorn" time again in Sickbay. Limp posture, dull eyes, a small sigh or even a moan or two from someone who was trying to be brave when his heart had been shattered into tiny little pieces-Tom knew the signs all too well. Harry Kim had been the most frequent recipient of Tom's benevolent counsel, but many others, including Voyager's own Emergency Medical Hologram, had come to value Mr. Paris' expertise.

That Icheb was next in a long line of seekers of knowledge regarding the repair of broken hearts was no surprise to Tom. He'd been half-expecting it. The identity of the one who had inflicted this melancholy state upon Icheb was hardly a surprise, either. He'd have to have been an unperceptive dolt not to know Naomi Wildman must be at the bottom of this. And, his reputation to the contrary, Tom was not an unperceptive dolt, especially when it came to romance.

Tom Paris had spent many years cultivating a rakish, devil-may-care attitude to disguise the fact that he was, in fact, a genuine, old-fashioned sap when it came to love. In this guise he was able to avoid revealing how supremely easily he could be hurt by the rejection by a potential lover.

One of the most precious aspects of the love he shared with his wife, since both utilized similar mechanisms for protecting themselves from such pain, was that their mutual love made it possible for them to drop the facade of not caring about each other. They could express their tenderly romantic emotions brazenly, in ways their shipmates often laughed at as idiotic, sophomoric, and silly-due, primarily, to these self-same shipmates disguising their own overwhelming jealousy over the fact that they had no one to act as idiotically, sophomorically, and ridiculously romantic towards them.

Fortunately for his friends aboard Voyager, finding love had not caused Tom Paris to turn his back upon those who had failed to find such happiness. Moreover, he had both a very long memory and the willingness to share his experiences to assist those who needed his guidance.

Thus, when Icheb wandered into Sickbay that evening, Tom remained silent only so long as it took to once again check the vital signs and neural readings of the unnaturally slumbering Marla Gilmore before saying, "You've got signs of heart trouble, my friend. Care to describe your symptoms to me?"

"Naomi hates me."

Tom's first impulse to laugh was ruthlessly stifled. He knew that would make the poor kid clam up totally. Pulling himself together while checking the readings from Darren Pierce's neural monitor, he substituted, "What makes you think that?"

"She ran out of the medical lab when she found out . . ." Icheb's morose recitation trailed off before he could finish his thought.

"Found out what?"

Icheb glanced over at Brian Sofin, who was perched on a stool between the biobeds of Marla and Darren, reading a technical journal article to his uncomplaining audience. Leaning close to Tom, he whispered, "She found out I was working on a way to kill all Borg drones instead of a cure for the coma victims."

That totally unexpected sentence shook Tom. Involuntarily, his gaze slipped over to Marla and Darren Pierce; then to Sofin, who continued reading without any hesitation, apparently not having heard what Icheb had said; before it alighted upon the young man's face again. Icheb looked miserable, mitigating Tom's initial reaction of extreme disappointment from learning that that the cure everyone had been so hopeful Icheb would discover was not even close to becoming a reality.

Motioning Icheb to follow him, Tom stepped into the Doctor's private office and took a seat at the EMH's desk, a solemn expression upon his face. Icheb followed Tom into the office and took the seat opposite Tom. Once Icheb had settled into the chair, Tom asked him, "So, your reports to the Doctor that you were getting closer to making a breakthrough were false?"

Icheb responded silently, with a nod and an even more downcast expression than the one he'd displayed when he first entered Sickbay. This sort of heartsickness was not the kind Tom felt as confident in handling as the more familiar, love-induced variety. A quick check of the chronometer on the Doctor's desk informed Tom that assistance dealing with this problem would not be arriving expeditiously, however. Dealing with this would be up to him.

"B'Elanna is running a diagnostic on the EMH in the holographic lab, Icheb. It should take another hour or so. Maybe you should wait to make a complete report to him. After all, if the cure you were hoping to find isn't possible, and you decided to work on this other . . . project, we'd all understand."

"I don't know if a cure is possible or not. I find it difficult to concentrate ever since the Queen began to speak to me, and even though she isn't any more, I find myself going off on tangents I should not follow."

"I see. Well, I'm the senior 'doc' on duty, with the EMH off-line. Maybe if you tell me about it, we can find a way to keep you on track."

As Icheb described the paths his research had taken and his disagreement with Naomi over his plans for the killer nanoprobes, Tom's ambivalence grew. Observing Icheb himself or thinking about Seven made Tom sympathetic towards Naomi's position, but while Tom applauded her compassion, he could readily comprehend why Icheb could find research in ways that could end the Borg threat forever to be compelling.

"So far, you've been able to find a way for the modified nanoprobes to destroy the connection between drones so they could function independently, like you do now?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Paris. The transceivers and cortical node cannot be activated, so the affected drones cannot act upon the Queen's commands. However, when the transceiver and cortical nodes are disrupted in this way, they will emit an unknown amount of energy, damaging the neural pathways as the connections fail. Another problem is that I cannot seem to find a way for this virus to be transmitted over distances, even though the Queen has been able to control drones in this manner. It does not matter anyway. Naomi does not want me to try this technique. She wants the drones to all become individuals. She believes they will no longer hurt anyone if this happens."