The Doctor checked Seven's life signs one more time before transferring his program to the briefing room. The "backup senior staff" seemed understandably un-enthused. By now, most of them were almost as sleep-deprived as the officers trapped in Seska's program. Vorik's uniform sported the glistening blue stain of a burst gel-pack, that he apparently hadn't found time to clean off. Sam Wildman's hair was falling out of its ponytail, and Jenkins' short gold locks gave the impression that she'd just piloted through a hurricane.
"Were we just here," Andrews mumbled, "Or have I just lost track of time?"
"Both, in all likelihood," the Doctor replied.
"So what's wrong with Seven?" Ayala asked, with an edge in his voice.
Andrews looked equally concerned. The security guards had dealt with Seven of Nine more frequently than most crewmembers outside the senior staff save Icheb and the Wildmans, and some of Tuvok's officers had come to regard Seven almost like a ward they were responsible for.
"Seven's alright, for now," the hologram assured everyone. "Her failsafe device activated, and caused her to lose consciousness. She regained consciousness a few minutes later, and resumed her activities. If she's continuously exposed to such trauma however, this could prove fatal for her."
Jenkins' blue eyes crept up, searched the hologram's face. "So what is this, some kind of Borg implant that short-circuits if she gets too stressed?"
"That's one way of putting it I suppose," the Doctor realized he was still standing, and took his seat at the table. "Seven has a piece of technology in her brain that's programmed to react if she reaches certain levels of emotion. The Collective designed it to catch drones beginning to experience their humanity. Or...Vulcanity, or Bolianit...you get the idea."
"And you can't do anything about it?" Andrews looked crestfallen for Seven. "It's one of the implants you can't remove?"
"Actually, I've been working on a way to remove it, but so far Seven's declined the offer."
"Obviously we're running out of time," Ayala concluded. "But the senior officers are starting to get short bursts of their memories back, on the subconscious level." He looked at the Doctor. "I assume this is good for us?"
"Not necessarily," the hologram knitted his brow. "It could be a sign that their brains are falling into disarray. Who knows what order in which they'll regain their memories, or if they'll be able to make any sense of them. By now they're all suffering significant sleep deprivation, and the captain is probably overdosing on her coffee. To say nothing of the drugs Seska and the Borg Queen are pumping into Commander Chakotay."
Jenkins shot the Doctor a look. "That's real morphine? How—?"
The hologram explained, "The same way you can set a holo-program to replicate real food for you, when you go to Sandrine's."
"Hang on, wait," Andrews said, rubbing the back of his aching neck. "So you're telling me that's real alcohol Tom's been swigging this whole time?"
"Well you don't think that stumbling alcoholic motif was an act, did you?" The Doctor replied.
Flabbergasted, Jenkins said softly, "Tom's going to have the hangover from Hell when he gets out."
"Doctor," Vorik said, "I've discussed an idea with the other Vulcans on board. At first none of us were certain it was a possibility, but after thorough research we believe it may work. Earlier this week, Icheb suggested using a Borg interface to contact Seven of Nine, which you ruled out due to the dampening field around the holodeck."
The Doctor nodded. "Among other things."
"Our suggestion is similar. But instead of using Seven of Nine, we would implement Commander Tuvok."
The Doctor reclined curiously. "I assume you're not talking about a mind-meld, since we have no way of getting anyone into physical contact with the senior staff."
"Not directly," Vorik explained. "But Vulcan telepathy need not involve physical contact. I presume most people at this table have heard of the incident aboard the flagship Enterprise, during which Commander Spock telepathically sensed the deaths of four-hundred Vulcans, when the starship Intrepid was destroyed. Vulcans are also able to feel the deaths of close family members and spouses across vast distances. Though we do not necessarily make it obvious, the Vulcans aboard Voyager have maintained a close familial bond throughout this journey. It has been necessary in fact, to keep each other's emotions and behavior in check."
Andrews gave a weak laugh. "That just might be the first time I've ever heard a Vulcan admit to actually having emotions!"
"Repressing our emotions is imperative, to the point that some of us will outright deny their existence, in order to discourage other species from attempting to provoke them."
Andrews's face straightened. He muttered to the Vulcan, barely audibly, "Sorry mate."
"So," the Doctor was looking at Vorik dubiously, "You're going to make an attempt to send Tuvok some kind of telepathic message?"
"In essence," the young Vulcan replied. "It would require a mass mind-meld between the five of us." By this he was referring to the other Vulcans on Voyager.
Samantha Wildman brushed some stray locks behind her ears. "A 'mass min—' you're saying that Vulcans can meld with multiple minds at once?"
"Tuvok did it," the Doctor reminded her. "When Captain Janeway entered Unamatrix Zero. He linked Seven's mind with the captain's in order to allow the latter to enter Unimatrix Zero. Unfortunately my database doesn't contain much information on Vulcan mind melds, so I can't say I've ever heard of melding with more than two individuals."
"It is not commonly done." Vorik said. "But it is possible. The five of us will join our minds and call out to Tuvok. From there we can instruct him to locate the holo-grid, and shut down the program manually."
All faces around the table lit up, except the Doctor's.
"Maybe some of you haven't noticed," the Doctor said carefully, "But Commander Tuvok isn't exactly the most…stable, of all the senior officers."
"I am opened to other suggestions." Vorik challenged.
Amelia Jenkins shook her head at the Doctor. "Even if Tuvok does loose a few of his marbles, it can't be any worse than some of the things you've cured him of before."
"That's easy for you to say," the hologram huffed. "Tuvok's just the icing on the cake. Sometimes I feel I can't go a week without treating someone on the senior staff for hallucinations or alien possession."
Jenkins looked away dismissively, but the Doctor ranted on.
"I swear, they all draw from a hat to see who's going to mind-meld with a psychopath, download the ship's database into their cortical node, flip on a family 'crazy gene,' purchase a possessed shuttle craft—"
"Doc," Ayala cut him off.
"Pardon me." The Doctor muttered. "But you can't blame a hologram for feeling frustrated."
Ayala nodded to Vorik. "How soon can you and the other Vulcans be ready?"
"Just a moment!" the Doctor objected. "I haven't given medical clearance for this!"
"Alright," Ayala said. "How soon can you have that clearance for them?"
"I'll have to examine all parties to ensure there will be no complications. I should have that done by 0700 hours."
"Get started." Ayala said.
Aside from Vorik and Tuvok, there were currently four other Vulcans aboard Voyager. T'Vora, a red-uniformed operations officer and former Maquis, had received an extensive checkup from the Doctor to ensure that no complications would arise from her being one-forth Romulan, or from the mind-control she and the other Maquis had recently been subjected to a few months ago. Sakornik, a petite science officer who human shipmates said looked Asian, was in perfect health and given clearance immediately. T'Lei, a Vulcan/human hybrid whose feathery blonde hair often hid her ears, was likewise a go. T'Rell, the dark-skinned security guard who wore her hair longer than most Vulcans, was still suffering minor symptoms from Neelix's latest culinary disaster, but none that would complicate the meld. After medical clearance was given, the five Vulcans gathered in sickbay.
Vorik briefed them all on the situation, and Tuvok's character in the holo-program. From there, they'd agreed upon the message they would communicate to him.
The five Vulcans stood in a circle, each placing their first two fingers on the forehead of their neighbor. The Doctor thought it looked like some goofy séance. He had genuine respect for his Vulcan shipmates; they were often far more sensible than anyone else on board. But he'd never been a fan of this mind-meld mumbo-jumbo…especially when it involved Mr. Tuvok…
Timothy Excelsior had all but forgotten about his assignment to find the statuette for Brigid Marquis. Today he was obsessed with Ron Gardener. He and Ned sat in the kitchen, listening while Kaaren—for the third time—relayed the story of what she'd witnessed the night before, when Tom and Harry had taken off with a woman claiming to carry Tom's child.
Finally given Kaaren a break, the detectives were now listening to reports on the radio. The reporter was describing three fugitives last seen crossing a bridge, where a police officer had apparently been murdered. And from the sound of it, the pregnant woman was the daughter of one of the suspects of Mickey Kazon's murder.
"I'm not surprised about the pregnant girl," Ned said, dunking his doughnut in some coffee. "But Tom's just too smart to kill a police officer."
Tim glanced at him over his glasses. "It sounds like it was an accident. And it might just as well have been the woman or Mr. Kimitsu who did it." Tim laced his fingers under his chin. "They won't get far."
"Why not?" Ned asked. "Tom's the cleverest driver in the city."
"And the most careless when it comes to actually caring for his car. I observed yesterday that it required an oil change, and Chicago said that, as usual, he was 'short on money.'" Shifting topics slightly, Tim said, half to himself, "The pregnant woman is John Torres' daughter. If I can prove her father's innocence, it would be a step closer to catching Gardener."
"Who?" Kaaren asked, tying a fresh pair of blue ribbons into her curls.
Ned just shook his head at his wife, silently begging her not to bother asking. "Tim, we've been through this. Our mission is to get a statue for your client, Brigid Marquis."
"That 'mission' was a gig I took because I needed money. This is infinitely more important. Gardener is a danger to society, and I failed to contain him once. He's my responsibility." Tim rose from the table. "I won't ask you to join me this time Ned. Spend some time with your wife."
Ned reluctantly agreed. "What if Miss Indiana calls, what should I tell her?"
"Tell her I've gone to a drug store to pick up my medicine," Tim said dryly.
Tim hadn't known Tommy Chicago long, but knowing the man's driving style and tastes, coupled with Kaaren's report that he was headed back towards Kitty Indiana's club before the incident with the cops on the bridge, it didn't take long for Tim to track where the three fugitives had ultimately ended up.
He found Wilhelmina Torres standing outside an auto-shop, in a rather pitiful disguise. The woman was huddled in Tommy Chicago's battered trench coat, with her forehead hidden beneath a poorly wrapped headscarf. Tim came up behind her, eyeing her reflection in the window to ensure he had the right woman. He'd anticipated that she'd hide her obvious forehead, so he'd been very careful to get the most detailed description of the woman's face and build and voice from Kaaren as possible.
"A fine day to shop for car parts, Miss Torres."
She looked up at him sharply, her large brown eyes traveling his pointed eyebrows and ears. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"A private investigator, and a colleague of your friends Chicago and Kimitsu. You're not in trouble." At her expression he added, "With me anyway. Miss, I'm working on a case involving a man who I believe to be the real murderer of Mickey Kazon. You can help me prove your father's innocence, and put a dangerous criminal behind bars."
"My father is not innocent." Torres said bitterly.
"Perhaps not. But do you truly believe him capable of murder?"
The woman stared at her reflection silently.
"Please don't let personal vendettas cloud your judgment. Logically, what is more likely; that your father shot a high-profile crime lord in his house, or that he drunkenly found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
Torres folded her arms under the baggy coat. "What about this other guy, what makes you so sure he did it?"
"Some time ago, I worked on a case in New York, involving a deranged murder who fit the description of the 'unknown suspect' in the Kazon case. That man was never caught."
Torres glanced up at him, her eyebrows contorted into something akin to amusement. "Are you sure I'm the one letting my judgment get clouded?"
Tim decided it would be wise not to attempt arguing a position he himself was uncertain of. So instead, he pulled a wad of bills from his coat. "This should buy you whatever parts you need for your car. All I need to know is where your father was likely to have been before he ended up in that bar where he threatened Kazon. The reports say that he and the other suspect came from the same area of town, in the company of many of the same individuals. If I have an idea of what kinds of activities they were involved in—"
"What do you think?"
"I need specifics. What are your father's vices, besides alcohol? Drugs? Women?" He added half-ironically, "Men?"
Billie gave him a look, then turned back to the window display, sighing deeply. "Daddy was always trying to pawn things for money, often things that weren't his. I never knew him to be interested in drugs, or to be particularly promiscuous, not that I'd put anything past him. But if I wanted to track my father—and God knows I wouldn't—I'd start by looking at the sketchiest pawn shops in town."
Tim handed her the money. "Thank you Miss Torres. And good luck on your journey."
He found Gardener just as the sun was beginning to set. He was sitting on a bench outside an old apartment complex. Tim ducked into an alley across the street, peering at Gardener from around the corner. Gardener was holding an opened newspaper, as if reading, but his eyes didn't move unless someone walked by. Tim wondered who Kitty had Gardener tracking this time.
When a blonde woman strode past the bench, Gardener's eyes stuck on her. She didn't notice. Tim was overtaken by a sense of dread, when Gardener rose from the bench, folding his newspaper, and began to follow her. She approached the apartment building's front door, drawing her keys, and Tim saw a silver web on her hand. It was Kitty's own singer, Miss Hanson. Why in the world was Kitty having her own woman tailed?
Tim suddenly realized that he might be misreading the situation; Annie and Gardener might be on some assignment for Kitty together, and were simply trying to look like they didn't know each other. Still, Tim left his hiding place and hurried across the street. He got a few looks, but luckily, none of them from Gardener (or Annie). When Gardener's head was turned, Tim ran past him and ducked behind the apartment complex's wall. Pressing himself against the cold bricks, he watched Gardener rush up to Annie.
"'Scuese me ma'am," Gardener called innocently.
Annie slowed to a stop, looking at Gardener with mild interest.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I live here, but I forgot my keys,"
Annie looked as if she had just been shaken out of some unpleasant thoughts. Seeming half somewhere else, she nodded, and assured Gardener that she could let him in. Tim's heart rate increased. He couldn't slip in with them without Gardener seeing him. But if he let them go, there was no telling when he'd be able to pull the same trick and get someone to open the door for him. She'd be alone with that psychopath. And then there was the fact that Tim was a Colored man, and Annie was a young blond white woman, it was getting dark, and this was a populace area where people would see and make assumptions.
An old film poster, framed by a brown brick wall.
Tim swayed where he stood. He pulled off his glasses, and blinked widely.
The image had just flashed into his mind, for a fraction of a second. He had no idea where it had come from. He was vaguely familiar with the picture being advertised—a German talkie from the early '30s, about a child-murderer—and the wall it hung on seemed to be part of this very apartment building. He looked behind him, down the wall. No poster on this side…
He heard the front door shut. Annie and Gardener were inside.
Timothy Excelsior
The voice—or voices?—sounded strangely close, and not just because they were inside Tim's head. One might compare it to the voices you'd half-hear when you were starting to fall asleep; but that wasn't quite it. It felt just as familiar though, and just as natural. But Tim couldn't imagine where he'd experienced anything like this before.
Go to the other side of the building. Everyone's life depends on it. Including Annie Hanson's.
It almost felt, in a way, that he was talking to himself. The thoughts felt like his own, but he wasn't coming up with them himself. Was this how someone with schizophrenia felt, when they were "hearing voices?" No, he wasn't just hearing things. He felt something. It was like having his mind joined with someone— or something—else…
He saw himself creep down the street, pressed against the wall. He mustered enough control to look over his shoulder, ensuring that no one was watching him. He came around the corner. The building's back wall offered a few trash bins, some windows, basement doors…there. He made a beeline for the poster.
The paper was thin and worn, ripped in a few places. Against a black background was a stylized, black-and-white image of a man starring at his reflection in a glass surface, with the letter M marked on his shoulder. Below was the film's single-letter title, "M," in red block form, with the shadow of a man in a hat cast against it. Directed by Fritz Lang, starring Hollywood's favorite creep Peter Lorre. Tim had never realized just how much Lorre's large, innocent-looking eyes reminded him of Gardener.
Behind the poster.
He reached up, and realized he was still holding his glasses. He put them back on, then pinched up one corner of the poster and peeled it off. Then he took his glasses back off again, just to make sure they weren't somehow fooling him.
Behind the poster was some kind of mechanical panel. But it was unlike anything he'd ever seen, in real life or in a sci-fi film. The components were strangely smooth, and parts of it lit up like the neon signs downtown. But the unusual design wasn't what was so eerie about it. There was something very, very wrong about this panel.
Tim held the poster back up over the panel. No light shined through the paper. He moved his hand over the glowing components, and saw the green and blue rays reflected on his skin. Yet when he brought the poster back up, it seemed somehow immune to the light, as if one of them was a perfectly crafted illusion.
The person, people or thing speaking to him urged him along without words. He made to put his glasses back on, and then realized he didn't need them—had never needed them. He couldn't even remember when he'd begun to wear glasses. He dropped them to the ground, along with the poster, and began to work at the panel. He didn't know what he was doing or why, only that everything depended on this. Nothing could come between him and this duty.
Until a burst of electricity shot from the panel, like a hair thin bolt of lightning, striking him in the face.
The meld ended abruptly. All five Vulcans reacted at once, as if suffering some collective head injury. Blonde T'Lei almost collapsed to the floor, but T'Vora caught her.
"What happened?" the Doctor asked urgently, running his tricorder over the entire circle.
Vorik answered. "Tuvok attempted to shut the program down, but—"
"Delaney to Sickbay!"
"Go ahead!" The Doctor didn't know which twin he was speaking to, and at the moment didn't care.
"Tuvok was just hit by a plasma burst from the holo-grid. It was deliberate sabotage. Tuvok's still alive, but he—"
"Wait!" the identical voice of the other twin practically screamed. "Something's changed—he shut off one of the system blocks! He's opened a window for us!"
"So we made some progress?" Naomi asked hopefully.
She sat at a table with her mother, Tal Celes, and William Teffler. Dinner in the mess hall had been awkward these last few nights. It was as crowded as usual, but somehow, with the senior staff out of commission, the entire ship had been feeling oddly quiet. Of course, Engineering and other stations being shut down contributed to that feeling.
"Hopefully," Sam's exhaustion was evident in her face and voice. "The twins said that one of the system blocks was shut off, and now we're trying to figure out what we can do with that."
Crewman Chell, the ship's blue-skinned backup chef, stopped by their table with a basket of purple buns.
"Bolian roles anyone?"
Naomi thanked him and took one.
"So," Chell attempted to lift everyone's spirits, "At least we have an advantage now!"
"And Tuvok has a serious brain injury," Sam stabbed her salad with her fork.
"Nothing the Doc won't be able to fix," the Bolian assured her. "You know I've been keeping up with the news on that program, catching bits of it when I was helping in Engineering or Astrometrics. I hate to admit it, but if no one was in danger I'd probably be a fan."
"Same," Tal admitted.
Sam made a face. "Maybe if it didn't have Seska in it."
Naomi slowly swirled her purple bun in a puddle of ranch dressing on her plate. "It's interesting to see what she was like though. Kes too. I barely remember her, Ktarian memory or not, to be honest."
Sam smiled. "She was a lovely person Naomi. I'd really been looking forward to having her help raise you. She was the kind of person who never judged anyone. She'd have been a great role model. I think the ship really lost something when she left."
Tal Celes nodded. "I miss her."
"Same." Chell agreed.
Billy Teffler looked down at his soup, almost guiltily.
"Billy?" Tal looked at her friend curiously.
Billy shook his head. "It's nothing."
"What, you don't miss Kes?"
"It's just…" He looked around the table, with the same worried eyes he wore when his hypochondria was acting up. "I liked Kes, I did. But I almost feel like, well, after she left, Neelix sort of seemed to lighten up. I mean, he wasn't always pointing fingers at people trying to 'steal' his girl, and he wasn't acting so…so…well he started acting more like a part of his crew, instead of some guy who was just dragged here by his girlfriend. It's like his whole personality changed after she dumped him, and even more after she was gone." His voice sped up. "And I don't know if this is just a rumor, but it seemed like Lt. Paris had a thing for Kes—maybe just a brother-sister thing—but either way, Tom and B'Elanna really took off after Kes was gone." Billy licked his lips nervously. "I feel so awful saying this, 'cause it's obviously not Kes's fault. But I almost feel like…like things got better in some ways after she left."
Sam didn't look offended. In fact, she looked like he'd said something very thought provoking. "Maybe…that's why Seska put Kes in there…to make Neelix and B'Elanna jealous."
Chell's blue face lit up with realization. "Lon Suder too! I heard he's in that program, isn't he?" The others nodded. "He gave Commander Chakotay a lot of grief back in the Maquis. And Tuvok! That whole mind-meld incident..."
Sam was staring down at her salad. "So Neelix has Kes, Tuvok has Suder, Chakotay has Seska…B'Elanna's got her father…Tom's got his father…"
"Someone to haunt each of them." Tal said ruefully.
Sam held up a hand. "Hang on, I think I'm onto something. Neelix has Kes…why not his sisters and parents? They were murdered. He's had a much more difficult time getting over that, than Kes's departure." Sam knew Neelix better than anyone else on the ship, except maybe Naomi. "If Seska just wanted to upset Neelix, why pick Kes to do it?"
"Because Seska knew who Kes was?" Tal shrugged. "Seska never knew Neelix's family."
"But her hologram checked the staff's logs. She found out all about B'Elanna and Tom's family problems. She could easily have done the same for Neelix. She picked Kes—I think—because Kes brought out the worst in him. His jealously, his fear of losing something he…" Sam paused, and then suddenly smacked the table, making everyone jump. "That's why she's a Bajoran!"
Tal looked confused for a second, but then her brown eyes bulged and she pointed at Sam. "Yes!"
"Who?" Chell looked between Sam and Tal, completely lost.
Naomi and Billy were equally confused.
"Seska!" Tal and Sam said in unison.
Tal explained it. "When Seska was in her Bajoran form, here on Voyager, she manipulated a lot of us. She was B'Elanna's best friend, she got her to violate the Prime Directive at least once."
"But," Chell tugged a blue earlobe, "Chakotay never let Seska pull his strings, even when they were an item. Well, he might've let her sway his judgment a teensy bit, but he certainly never let her talk him into breaking any fundamental Maquis rules, or Starfleet ones here on Voyager. Well, unless you count the time she lured him to the Kazon, but that was after she'd been outed as a Cardassian."
"After Chakotay knew she'd already duped him once." Sam let out a short, bitter laugh. "That's why Charles Liberty already knows 'Seraphine' as a villain, but Billie Torres doesn't! Seska could manipulate B'Elanna as her best friend, but not as her enemy. With Chakotay it was the opposite; she couldn't coax him around that much when he loved her, but when she was challenging him as an enemy he turned into a completely loose cannon."
Naomi looked at her mother, mind-blown. "So she's filled this program with people who will just drive Captain Janeway and Chakotay and the others to…make dumb choices?"
"Mayhew," Sam laced her fingers under her chin. "Probably based on the poor Captain's fiancé back home. I'll bet you ten months of replicator rations, the only time Captain Janeway thought of trying to break the Prime Directive to get us home, she had him on her mind. Seska's stuffed this program with people who just bring out the worst in everyone. That's how she decided who to put in there. Not just people who'd bring back bad memories. I mean, did Seven see her parents? Did Chakotay see his dead father? No. But they saw Seska and the Borg Queen."
Billy looked confused, and then sickened. "That's who that Nazi woman is?"
Sam looked at him. "You've never seen a picture of the Queen? Not in the database, or any books on the Borg?"
Tal began to giggle, almost hysterically. "And you said that old Nazi woman was 'kind of sexy,' didn't you Billy!"
Naomi scratched a cranial horn thoughtfully. "So that's why Mezoti and the twins weren't in there. They'd bring out the best in Seven."
"That, and none of the kids on board have had holograms made of them," Tal said. "Most of the people Seska did get were from programs like 'Insurrection Alpha' or Seven's old social lesson programs. The only ones Seska created special were what we just talked about, ones that would have the worst influence."
Naomi listened, chewing thoughtfully, then set down her half-eaten purple roll. "If these characters are bringing out the worst in everyone, then we should make our characters people who bring out the best in them!"
Sam looked at her daughter. "'Our characters?'"
Naomi shrugged. "We're going to send something in through that 'window' Tuvok opened, aren't we? I just figured it might be a hologram of some kind. Maybe we can program new characters based on some of us."
Tal pointed at Naomi. "Make a hologram of her! Whenever the captain sees Naomi, she seems to remember that this journey wasn't all so bad. That's how it looks to me anyway. And I know Seven has a soft spot for her."
Sam set down her napkin, beaming at her daughter.
"Naomi, I…"
Sam leaned across the table, and kissed her daughter on the side of the forehead (avoiding the Ktarian horns). Then she left the table and hurried out of the mess hall, tapping her com badge.
"Wildman to the Doctor…"
"Hey!" Naomi pushed out of her chair. "Wait for me!"