Chapter Six: Tiny Red Feathers (or, The Ever-Present Threat of the Secondary Narrativist)

When they arrived in the village, they decided to leave the area out of an abundance of caution in terms of avoiding Irene. They stood in front of the transporter, frozen by indecision. It took a moment of internal deliberation before the Doctor spoke. He attempted a casual tone.

"Well. Admiral Janeway has left us with some time to kill, so we don't need to head to Starfleet Headquarters just yet. Perhaps we could talk somewhere or… maybe dance?"

"Are you suggesting Sandrine's?" Seven's voice nearly cut off his suggestion.

"Well, I… only if that sounds-"

"Agreed," she answered quickly.

Her agreement alone would have been enough to make his face split into a wide, ridiculous grin. The sudden enthusiasm- he could tell she was trying (rather unsuccessfully) to restrain it- was enough to cause a wave of buzzing photonic energy spread throughout his matrix, taking with it the last nervous blip of "mentor and friend!" No. Not a mentor any more- not unless she explicitly asks me to be. But still a friend, certainly. No empty "juvenile passion" as she would call it- that would cheapen what's happened here and only lead to heartache in the end. A relationship between equals- that is what we both desire and that is what she deserves. While the Doctor had always felt somewhat vulnerable around Seven- at least since he realized he was falling in love with her during their first duet- he had always been able to mask it well by hiding behind his role as mentor or diving into boisterous artistic expression. Now the first option was gone, and the second, well. Seven had developed a keen ability to see through it- so much so it reminded him of Kes at times.

He was beginning to understand the new shyness he had seen in Seven's eyes.

"Doctor?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes! Let's get going, shall we?"

A few moments later and he almost regretted making the suggestion in the first place.

Sandrine's had a pool table. How had he forgotten? A scowl crept on his face, and he found himself thinking that the real version was definitely not the same as the place where Seven and he had first danced.

"I suppose I forgot that this establishment was a favorite of Lieutenant Paris of all people. It certainly isn't the refined version I modified in the holodeck."

Seven looked at him with uncharacteristically clear amusement. "The differences are minimal and there is still a dance floor." As she spoke, the Doctor noticed her eyes settling on the pool table.

"True…" He looked around again. There was Sandrine herself behind the bar, chatting with one of the customers in the same manner as holo-Sandrine. With some relief, however, the Doctor noticed that none of the more suspicious characters in Tom's holodeck version were present. At least at the moment. "Well. If you would like to stay, who am I to object?" he said softly.

They drifted over to the dance floor, and before either of them could realize it, they were in each other's arms and swept away by the music.

It wasn't "Someone to Watch Over Me", but the Doctor found himself smiling nonetheless. The song was "Cheek of Cheek", the version sung by Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald.

"Heaven… / I'm in heaven…"

And he was. Seven's smile was more noticeable than her usual barely-there smile, and unless she had changed far more than the Doctor had realized, he knew that was near beaming for her. And as if that weren't enough, she looked downright relaxed. It was enough to warm every photon in his body- if he were organic, he might have cried from happiness. No one else was dancing at the moment, a few patrons were starting to watch them, and those patrons were not holograms. But Seven's uncharacteristic nonchalance was contagious; normally such attention would egg the Doctor on into theatrics, but he simply didn't care. Their focus was entirely on each other, caught up in the familiarity of dancing together.

The Doctor found himself unable to look away from Seven's eyes- how often had he looked into those eyes only to hurriedly direct his gaze elsewhere? And now, knowing that there had been at least some part of her that had returned his affections for nearly as long as he had been aware of his own affection for her—it made it all the more remarkable that the steely-blue eyes which were so often a deliberate and carefully constructed barrier were now unguarded and at ease.

And suddenly there was that shyness again that he still wasn't used to, mixed, perhaps, with a bit of nervousness.

Instantly, he felt shy and nervous, too. He cleared his throat, raised an eyebrow. "I saw you eyeing that pool table," he said, still moving to the music. "Have you played?"

"No. However it is my experience that my Borg physiology often grants me an immediate advantage in games largely based on hand-eye coordination."

The Doctor smirked. "Would you like to test that theory?"

It was Seven's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Do you play, Doctor?"

"No… But while you have your Borg physiology, I have a highly adaptive program."

"Then you are challenging me." The Doctor could swear Seven was being playful. It wouldn't be the first time. There had been rare moments on Voyager, especially during their last two years or so before arriving back in the Alpha Quadrant, when Seven had let her guard down this way- the Doctor remembered her vivid description of foie gras and champagne, her remark that there was no medical emergency "yet", all an attempt to cheer him up and, he came to realize suddenly, stark proof of just how much she trusted him.

And just like that the moment washed over him like a plasma storm.

He must be the luckiest hologram in the galaxy.

"Far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to test your Borg physiology."

He raised his arm, leading her into an underarm turn, then dipped her lightly as the song ended, but not before he noticed her own squinting smirk.

They both straightened, to scattered applause among the tables.

When it was obvious that the Doctor and Seven were leaving the dance floor and heading to the empty pool table, the patrons all returned to their respective conversations.

Sandrine approached them with two pool cues. "The two of you must be professional dancers- you could attract quite a crowd. Any other talents I should know about?" she asked, offering the cues.

"No," said Seven at the same time the Doctor said, "We've been known to sing duets." Seven shot him a look.

Sandrine smiled slyly. "And now the two of you are about to play pool?" She glanced from the strip of metal above Seven's eye to the mobile emitter on the Doctor's arm. "You're not looking for jobs are you?"

The Doctor traded a look with Seven and tried to make up for his previous error. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Very well. Let me know if you ever change your minds."

Sandrine sauntered off as the Doctor lined up the balls and rolled the cue ball to Seven. "Let's see just how impressive your Borg-enhanced hand-eye coordination really is. I take it you already know how to play?" He took a step away from the table.

Seven's gaze was still trained on Sandrine. The Doctor glanced back toward the bar, where Sandrine was whispering with someone. "I have to admit, Lieutenant Paris certainly programmed her holodeck counterpart perfectly."

Seven dropped her gaze to the pool table. "Yes. Perhaps that is all it is." Before the Doctor could ask what she meant, Seven lined up the cue ball and broke, sending the balls scattering in all directions. Four solids and not a single stripe made it into three different pockets. "Solids." She straightened to observe the table. "To answer your question, yes I am familiar with this game's rules."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and watched Seven make two more before the start of his turn.

He made five- one of which involved an impressive jump and two ricochets off the bumpers. "Not quite caught up, but pretty good for a first-time player if I do say so myself."

Seven promptly scored the last solid, followed swiftly by the 8-ball.

She frowned. "This was… underwhelming."

The Doctor chuckled. "I have a feeling a second game would be similarly short."

She stiffened, hands clasped behind her back. "I believed this would prove an interesting pastime since we are indeed similarly matched. Evidently, that was an incorrect assumption."

The Doctor smirked, crossing his arms. "Is that an admission that I would win if I had the first move?"

Seven quirked an eyebrow. "Since we agree that a second game is a moot point we shall never know."

The Doctor pouted, then abruptly smiled, snapping his fingers. "Wait here. I know how we can settle this."

It took him only a moment to ask Sandrine for what he needed- to which she raised an eyebrow, glanced at the mobile emitter again, and muttered something about "odd customers" under her breath- before returning to the pool table, grinning all the while. He set six extra cue balls at various points on the table.

Seven raised an eyebrow.

"It's simple," he explained. "A few more obstacles mean extra opportunities to scratch, as well as extra opportunities to lose once it's down to just the 8-ball."

"And can we use any of these additional 'obstacles' to strike our intended target?"

The Doctor thought a moment. "…No. We'll keep track of the original cue ball- the others are only obstacles. That should keep both of us on our toes. So to speak."

"An interesting modification." Seven picked up her cue stick from where it had been leaning against the table. "Very well." She motioned for him to make the first move.

The Doctor allowed himself a smug smile when he made two striped balls, not a single solid, and managed to avoid the extra obstacles. He made a third before Seven's turn.

As they continued to play (and the Doctor had to admit, their modified version was more difficult than he had anticipated- clearly Seven was manipulating the extra cue balls to block any easy shots on his part), the Doctor noticed Seven's eyes would occasionally dart around the room. He started to do the same and immediately understood why.

He wandered around the table closer to her, pretending to get a better view of their game. He lowered his voice so only her Borg-hearing would pick up his voice. "I count at least three. You?"

She responded just as quietly. "Affirmative. There may be a fourth. I suspect we have Sandrine herself to thank."

The Doctor resisted the urge to sigh. It was bound to happen sooner or later. "I should have anticipated that- her holodeck counterpart certainly wasn't above this sort of thing." He lined up his shot. "Although to be fair, we are two of the more easily recognizable members of the crew, even in civilian clothing." He shot at one of the remaining striped balls with a definitive clack. None of them made it into a pocket. He crossed his arms.

Seven followed the cue ball and managed to score another two before it was the Doctor's turn again. He resisted the urge to smile, wondering how calculated that move had been: their score was now perfectly tied and he would have to walk around the pool table and stand near her again to make a clear shot, nomatter his target. As he wandered closer to her, he scanned the room again out of the corner of his eye.

"I see that fourth you mentioned," he said quietly, pretending to use the cue stick to plan his shot. "…but she's doing a better job of hiding it." He frowned. "She might be an actual reporter." He struck the cue ball and made the second-to-last stripe before deliberately knocking one of the extra cue balls in a corner pocket. He glanced at Seven and said in a normal voice, "A sloppy mistake on my part."

Seven raised an eyebrow before making the last solid. She lined up her first attempt at the eight ball, then whispered, "Secondary-narrativists are one thing, but we may want to avoid professional reporters given what happened in Sweden." She made her shot- she didn't win, but she also managed to avoid knocking any of the extra "obstacles" into any pockets.

The Doctor knew she was right, but he couldn't resist the urge to smirk. "Are you certain you don't just want to end this before I win?" He scored the last striped ball and lined up what his visual-cortical subroutines told him must be a winning shot. He drew back the cue stick to strike.

"I am hoping to avoid another iteration of 'Team Delta Sparkle'."

The Doctor's hand slipped, sending not one, but three cue balls into different pockets. He blinked, then straightened and crossed his arms indignantly. "You did that on purpose."

He could've sworn he saw another smirk on Seven's face before the sound of two chairs scraping against the floor distracted them. Two of the suspected secondary narrativists were starting to stand, looking at them with the open curiousity-bordering-on-adoration expression that was so common among the more irritating of them. The third secondary-narrativist had buried his face in the PADD he had been tapping into- apparently he was one of the shy-types.

The reporter was acting like she didn't care, sipping her drink.

"Alright, time to go!" The Doctor plastered an over-the-top grin on his face as he and Seven both left cue sticks on the table and left with more speed than necessary.

Once they reached the public transporter just outside the bar, Seven punched in the command for San Francisco with Borg speed and efficiency. As the small street of Marseille faded blue, the Doctor saw the two secondary-narrativists burst out the front door, glancing at the transporter with open looks of disappointment.

*

When they materialized in the courtyard of Starfleet Headquarters, the Doctor let out a simulated, but audible, sigh of relief. He crossed his arms, but couldn't help smiling. "You just had to bring up 'Team Delta Sparkle', didn't you?"

Seven clasped her hands behind her back, her face perfectly composed. "Given your reluctance, it was the most efficient means of leaving that establishment."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "You're not fooling me."

While official media outlets had immediately taken to naming them the "Voyager Miracle Crew", "Team Delta Sparkle" was easily the most embarrassing- and, unfortunately, the most popular- secondary narrative.

The origin of "Team Delta Sparkle" was rather innocent: a young girl, barely leaving toddler-hood, and her affectionate crayon drawing of the Voyager Miracle Crew featuring a triumphant hands-on-hips Captain Janeway standing above a Borg Queen with X's for eyes and, in characteristic small-girl detailing, plenty of stars and sparkles around the crew clearly signaling their virtue and heroism (or so the Doctor liked to think). It was a touching picture, and several of the crew had met with the girl. Admiral Janeway (still a captain at the time) had even encouraged her to think about joining Starfleet and becoming a captain herself. According to Samantha Wildman, Naomi became rather excited at the idea of serving on the same ship, along with Icheb.

Of course, such innocence soon spiraled out of control once the story (and the original drawing) were published. An anonymous user known only as "Z" had posted a series of interactive holo-drawings to the secondary-narrativist publication infinity-chan in which each crewmemember looked to have skin made of glitter and far too much dark eyeliner. Their uniforms had been slightly altered- the colored shoulders were at least five shades darker, the comm badges were made of matte grey gunmetal, and the jacket-colors reached up past the chin. The dead giveaway- according to Tom, anyway- had been the elongated canine teeth. Apparently, the new look was based on an early 21st century young adult trilogy of novels about vampires that sparkled in sunlight.

If that had been the end of Team Delta Sparkle, the Doctor wouldn't have cared. But of course, nothing stayed that static or tame on infinity-chan.

The next iteration had each crewmember dressed in- again, according to Tom- regular early 21st century streetclothes: lots of denim, a few leather jackets, and a few tan trench coats. Here, the defining characteristic was that every crewmember spoke in an unnaturally low and gravelly voice, and seemed to have a strange obsession with hunting ghosts, vampires, demons, and the like. There was a rather disturbing amount of blood involved, and dozens of references to a disturbing amount of incidents involving something called a "garbage disposal". The Janeway figure said something about "the job" or "the life" or "Chako-tiel" every other line, nomatter how a person interacted with her holo-image. An unhealthy amount of research (B'Elanna's words) led Tom to conclude that this iteration of "Team Delta Sparkle" was based on a television show based on two brothers who regularly hunted supernatural monsters and eventually contended with the devil. On several occasions. Leading to multiple deaths-and-resurrections of both brothers.

Several other iterations had closely followed. Most of the crew took in stride, though every single one of them had at least one iteration they particularly did not like. And because of this, they all thought the Doctor was grossly overreacting in absolutely hating all of them. Of course, that was hardly fair because none of the other crewmembers retained the inherent sparkly-ness of the vampire iteration. No, only the Doctor had holo-images which grew in their ridiculous portrayal of what it meant to be a being made of light. His own vampire holo-image was eventually screened with a warning to prevent blindness. And none of the other monster-hunting holo-images of the crew were sparkly at all- except for the Doctor. (He had complained to Tom about this one while B'Elanna failed to hide her snickering. "You should be flattered," Tom had said. "You have a pair of shadowy wings- that means your based on one of the coolest characters!" Tom had no answer when the Doctor asked him why "Chako-tiel", apparently based on the same character, had none of the same blinding sparkle.)

It was quickly apparent that the one constant "sparkle" in each iteration of "Team Delta Sparkle" was the Doctor. His more cynical subroutines wondered if it was a case of subtle anti-photonic sentiment.

Of course, Seven's holo-images were always among the least ridiculous. Possibly because even the trolls on infinity-chan were still intimidated by the Borg. She nearly always looked the same as she did in real life, with only a single defining feature of each iteration added (she still sparkled in the vampire iteration, but far less than the rest of the crew, and her supernatural-monster-hunting counterpart was just an image of her in her brown dermoplastic suit carrying a revolver with silver bullets).

Her relatively normal appearance in each iteration probably explained her current smugness.

"I was concerned about avoiding another iteration," she said. "Though we have only recently resumed contact, I knew from the first iteration that you must hate it."

Several subroutines wanted to maintain a front of offense at Seven having brought it up at all, but all the Doctor could manage was "You did?"

She raised her metal eyebrow. "Your ego always has been fragile."

The Doctor crossed his arms and pouted. "Has not." The protest came out weaker than he intended. If Seven really had guessed at his hatred of the "Team Delta Sparkle" secondary narrative, that meant some part of her had been thinking about him when they had still been on bad terms after their argument. When she and Chakotay had still been dating. At the least, it was proof that their friendship really had been important to both of them, even before the new romantic element had been introduced. The Doctor couldn't help but smile softly to himself- over the last several months he had certainly had moments of his own where he caught himself thinking "Seven would surely hate this" or "Seven would enjoy that".

He straightened and took her hand in his. "We still have time before meeting with the Admiral. Why don't we explore the city? That shouldn't draw too much attention to ourselves. Especially if we stay close to Starfleet Headquarters."

Seven blinked at his apparent sudden shift in mood, then nodded. "Agreed."

*

Once it was time to meet Admiral Janeway and they arrived back at Starfleet Headquarters, the Doctor was immediately aware of a change in Seven's demeanor. She stood straighter, stiffer, hands clasped more tightly behind her back than usual, and her smile was gone.

The Doctor frowned, concerned. "Seven?"

"I am still… apprehensive."

The Doctor studied her face. "I can see that." He paused. "Seven, has something in particular happened between you and Admiral Janeway?"

Seven's eyes flickered to meet his gaze briefly before she swallowed and looked at the ground. "I met with the Admiral briefly, a little over three weeks ago. I was… unsure how to process the difficult emotions I was still experiencing surrounding my breakup with the Commander. Evidently," Seven's mouth twitched into a wry smile- but it was gone just as quickly, "Admiral Janeway was unsure how to approach the situation as well. It was a rather awkward visit."

"I see."

"As I said earlier, Doctor. I have created a difficult situation."

The Doctor took her hand in his. He offered a reassuring smile when she looked at him. "And as I said earlier, Seven, you can't keep blaming yourself like this. After all, I'm sure Commander Chakotay wasn't coerced into dating you. He made that decision all on his own."

Seven seemed to consider this. "You are correct."

He squeezed her hand gently. "The meeting today can't possibly get any more awkward than when you and B'Elanna saved me from decompiling after all those embarrassing confessions."

Seven's mouth twitched into a smile.

The Doctor beamed and let go of her hand. "There we are." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

"Very well."

They were directed to the thirty-fourth floor and went down three different hallways before they came to Admiral Janeway's corner office overlooking the grounds, perfectly angled to get a good view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific ocean, all within the same window.

"Come in," came the answer when they triggered the door's alarm.

The Admiral beamed when they walked in, spreading her arms wide in welcome. "It's good to see the two of you, feels a little like being back on Voyager."

The Doctor couldn't help but grin and he noticed out of the corner of his eye that, despite her insistence on being apprehensive, Seven was smiling slightly as well. Out loud, he said, "It's good to see you too, Admiral."

"I do hope you won't insist on saying it like that from now on, Doctor." She glanced between the two of them, a sudden concerned hush entering her voice. "How are the two of you?"

The Doctor frowned. "I'm doing as well as can be expected."

Seven stood up straighter, obviously trying to hide some discomfort. "I am doing… much better than when we last spoke, Admiral."

A slow smile spread across Janeway's face and she gave Seven's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Good. I'm glad to hear it." Seven relaxed, slight smile returning.

"I hope you don't mind, but I haven't seen very much besides these office walls lately. Why don't we move some place a little more comfortable?" Before waiting for an answer, Janeway steered them back through the door to the turbolift.

Once they were on the ground floor, the Admiral led them out of the building and to the nearest transporter so quickly neither of them had a chance to raise an eyebrow, let alone voice a question. Despite the Admiral's smile, the Doctor found himself wondering if something was wrong- something about her demeanor seemed forced, like she was putting on a show.

She punched in a command at the transporter and led them through. The Doctor raised an eyebrow in confusion, but before he could open his mouth to ask what was going on, Janeway led them to another transporter, quickly punched in another command and lead them through.

They rematerialized again, this time in a darkened, wood-paneled room which, according to the Doctor's olfactory subroutines (which didn't quite mimic the real sensation of scent, based on his brief time in Seven's body) told him smelled of cigarette smoke. He scrunched up his nose in disgust, more offended by the fact that anyone would still choose to do something so detrimental to their health, rather than the simulated scent itself. "There are people in this world who still choose to slowly kill themselves in this way?"

Janeway glanced around the room and motioned for them to follow her into the hallway outside. "Don't worry, Doctor, we're heading for the non-smoking section. Follow me."

She led them down a narrow hallway past several closed doors, some of which smelled more strongly of cigarette smoke than others. They entered a larger room with a long desk at one end. Janeway nodded at the Bajoran manning the desk and took them down a different hallway. Halfway down yet another hallway, Janeway stopped sharply in front of a door, opened it with an actual metal key, motioned them in, and locked the door behind them.

Once she had done so, she relaxed and let out a relieved sigh.

The Doctor opened his mouth again, but Seven beat him to it with a quiet but pointed, "Explain."

Janeway let out a low chuckle. "I apologize for the circus act. I wouldn't have dragged the two of you through all of that if it wasn't absolutely necessary. I'll explain everything, as I said earlier, but before I do…." She gestured to the wall to their left. "We've got a replicator and a menu with today's kitchen-prepped options. I can attest to the plomeek soup and the pot roast- both are excellent. They make a good pot of coffee, too." She gestured for Seven to order. "Please."

Seven raised a cybernetic eyebrow with an exasperated but unspoken Very well and tapped the kitchen-prepped menu with her preference. A plate of pot roast, steamed vegetables, and potatoes materialized on the table in the middle of the room.

"Transported from the kitchen," Janeway explained. "This place takes privacy very seriously." She punched in her own order and a second plate identical to Seven's materialized along with a carafe of black coffee, a pitcher of water, and two mugs. Janeway took a seat and gestured for them to join her.

"Admiral," the Doctor said, taking his seat, "should we be concerned? What is going on?"

"And what does my Aunt Irene have to do with it?" Seven said, her voice slightly clipped.

Janeway took a sip of coffee. She looked at both of them for a moment, her thumb tapping the handle of her coffee mug. She drew in a breath before answering. "Why don't I start by explaining where we are?" She glanced around the wood-paneled room. "Apparently, this establishment was made by a friend of a friend who may or may not have had connections with the Maquis. One of the few with enough resources to build such a place. Ambiguous, I know. He- or she, no one knows who it is- pride's himself on secrecy- both his own and that of his patrons. The building itself has the technology to scramble all standard comms and tracers- your communicators won't work in here. I would offer to tell you why such a place exists on Earth, but the truth is I don't know, other than the fact that this person wanted to provide a place where secrecy could be guaranteed for any party they thought deserved it. Which of course leads to the question of why someone with any ties to the Maquis would be willing to accommodate a Starfleet Admiral." Janeway smiled ruefully and picked up a potato with her fork. "Let's just say it helps being the former captain of Voyager. And B'Elanna put in a good word for me soon after we arrived back on Earth."

"That still does not explain why such secrecy is necessary right now," Seven said, still not touching her food.

Janeway straightened and set down her fork. "I'll be… efficient… in my explanation." She paused, looking from Seven to the Doctor, then back to Seven. "Your Aunt Irene is a volunteer informant for Starfleet Intelligence. She's very good at gathering information, and she is indeed a rogue- though not just by 'a bit'. I wouldn't exactly call myself her 'handler' because she's not affiliated with Starfleet Intelligence in any official capacity, but she has helped quite a bit in the past- including a great deal during our time in the Delta Quadrant."

Seven lifted her chin. "Did you know about her dealings with Starfleet before?"

"No," Janeway said quickly. "I didn't find out until I was promoted- about two months after we got back." She let out a low sigh and picked up her fork again, suddenly looking very tired. "To be entirely honest, I was torn about whether or not I should tell you. I was ordered not to." She paused, scowling slightly into her coffee mug, then sighed and set her mug back down. She looked Seven in the eye again, her voice lowering. "I briefly thought about telling you the last time we spoke, Seven, but it seemed to me that that was the last thing you needed at the time."

Seven glanced away. When she looked back up her expression seemed softer, but the Doctor couldn't be sure. Curiosity sent the photons in his chest buzzing again. Out loud, Seven said, "I believe you were correct, Admiral."

Janeway's eyes flickered to meet the Doctor's briefly. "I'm glad you're doing better than you were then, Seven." She took a bite of meat before continuing. "Unfortunately, there are other things that I need to tell the two of you which have nothing to do with catching up.

"If you've kept up with the headlines at all, you'll know that Starfleet has been dealing with a string of disappearing officers. Normally, that isn't exactly out of the ordinary- you two know better than most the kinds of strange things that can happen during space travel. Voyager was quite lucky to have so few casualties. At least, after those initial few days…" Janeway fell silent, the way she sometimes did when reminded that not all of her crew had made it home.

"We all made it back because of the heroic efforts of our captain," the Doctor said quickly, offering a smile.

Janeway looked up and met his smile with a small one of her own. The sadness didn't leave her eyes. "Yes, I suppose there's some truth to that. Thank you, Doctor." She cleared her throat and straightened. "Casualties are nothing new to Starfleet. Especially after the Dominion War. But there's something different about these." Janeway set her fork down again. The Doctor noted that she had only taken two bites so far. "Starfleet has been trying to downplay the situation- the last thing we need is a panic. But journalists are already catching on- I get sick just thinking about the kind of nonsense the secondary narrativists are going to start spewing out soon…" Janeway sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. (The Doctor could understand why. His own feelings aside, he knew "Team Delta Sparkle", with all its ridiculous absurdity, was rather tame. Some secondary-narratives were downright hateful, even dangerous.) "This isn't just a string of disappearances, it's a string of murders. We believed it to be random chance at first, but now it's clear that these are all being done by the same person, or group of people."

"How can you tell?" Seven asked.

"There's a clear path to follow; the murders started clustered around the Sol System, swung out toward Klingon space, then made their way steadily back through the Sol System toward the demilitarized zone."

The Doctor frowned. "The trail completely flipped?"

"That's not all. At first, there didn't seem to be any connection beyond vague proximity. After the first four, Starfleet noticed something odd. The fifth victim's comm badge was cracked open, and a tiny red feather was glued to the inside. The sixth had the same MO. After that, the lead investigator examined the comm badges of the first four victims and, sure enough, red feathers embedded in the comm badges. Once the seventh turned up, the red feather was glued to the outside of the comm badge. The eighth had a larger red feather glued to the comm badge. And the ninth had a small pile of red feathers dumped on their chest, covering their comm badge."

The Doctor shared a look with Seven. She looked as disgusted as he felt. "So the killer is getting bolder."

"Yes, but the killer didn't get bolder until forensics had uncovered the pattern- the initial, hidden calling card."

"Sounds like Starfleet has a psychopath on their hands."

The corner of Janeway's mouth twitched upward in a mirthless grin. "It does sound like something out of a five-credit mystery novel, doesn't it?" She grimaced. "If this were only a disturbed individual that would be one thing…"

Seven set down her fork, looking at Janeway. "You're afraid the killer is someone within Starfleet."

Janeway nodded slowly. "Yes," she said quietly. "Or at least that the killer might have ties to someone on the inside. How else would they know when to leave a bolder calling card with their butchery?" She stabbed at a piece of meat, but didn't raise it to her mouth. "This investigation has been kept very quiet. It's possible the killer learned about the details of the investigation's progress through some leaked signal or other. But in my estimation that's highly unlikely." She paused. "Unfortunately, it gets even worse."

The Doctor laughed incredulously. "How could that possibly get worse?"

"…Doctor, I know I've asked you before, but I need you to be entirely honest with me. How are things going at Starfleet Medical?"

The Doctor blinked. "They're… as well as can be expected, all things considered. Admiral, I don't unders-"

"So things aren't exactly going well?"

The Doctor glanced up at the ceiling and sighed. "I really don't know what this has to do with anything, and it's really a very minor thing, but… One of my superiors is a bit… appalled… at my even being in Starfleet Medical. He said once that he was not impressed with my 'questionable, hasty, and rather sloppy' sentience hearing. I certainly didn't like it, but he's a fine physician and an excellent researcher- he's gotten little more than a slap on the wrist but quite frankly, I wouldn't want to see him go."

Seven was looking at him with a reserved curiosity that he didn't quite understand.

Janeway's eyes were steel. "Starfleet has zero tolerance for that kind of talk." She stood abruptly and faced away from them, hands on her hips. "I realize you're the first photonic to be ruled sentient, but a seasoned professional at Starfleet Medical ought to know better."

The Doctor was tempted to stand as well, but he resisted. "To be fair, Admiral, it was only one instance. I'll admit, he's never exactly liked my being there, but I don't see why this is a big deal." He paused, then managed a small smile. "I remember arguing with certain people on Voyager about how I should be treated. Including you on a few occasions."

Janeway whirled around, the tiredness back in her eyes. "I'm aware of that, Doctor. I'll be the first to admit that it took me a while to accept you as a full-fledged member of the crew. But this is different."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "How so?" He frowned when Janeway didn't answer immediately. "Admiral, what's going on? Does this have something to do with the murders?"

Janeway let out a breath and sat back down, glancing again from him to Seven. "Yes."

"Elaborate." The Doctor looked up sharply at the sound of Seven's voice and saw a tension in her face that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"There are a few who believe that a photonic might be involved." She picked up her mug and raised it to her lips. "The evidence is circumstantial at best. A few stray traces of photonic energy at the later murder scenes- don't ask me how, as far as I know your mobile emitter is the only one in existence." She paused. "What's more telling is another link among the victims… all of them had reputations for criticizing either holography, artificial life, or both." She set her mug back down without taking a sip and looked the Doctor in the eye. "I wish I could say that was all, but a new piece of evidence surfaced just yesterday. An image from a security cam at the most recent murder. It shows the murderer. A Starfleet medical officer who looks exactly like you."