Star Voyager - Part 9
By Iejasu and Miklinar
Vader woke up and stretched. He smiled -- after so
many days in sickbay with no difference between sleep
wear and day wear, he had forgotten to change. Not
that the clock had ruled his clothing habits for a
long time before that -- maintenance schedules, yes.
He spent longer than he expected in the fresher,
enjoying the privacy and the sensations against his
bare skin. Bare skin! and no breathing apparatus!
Hunger finally drove him out of the fresher. He stood
in front of the replicator... something familiar
first, a breakfast the doctor had put on his permitted
menu several times. "Pancakes. Maple syrup." And what
was that beverage...? "Hot cocoa."
The air above the replicator platform sparkled and
solidified. Vader nodded -- it looked and smelled the
way he remembered. He took the dishes over to the
table and started eating, bringing up the viewscreen
with the Delta Flyer schematics.
"Good morning, Mister Skywalker."
The sudden voice with no entry noises or comm chime
startled him. He leaped up into a combat-ready
position -- overturning his food and drink as well.
Vader snarled when he realized it was only the EMH.
The doctor was standing in the middle of the room. He
scowled for an instant at Vader's reaction. "I trust
you slept well?"
The guest _had_ slept well, despite his usual
nightmares; the readouts were clear on that. The
Doctor had learned that asking about his patient's
condition helped maintain a good doctor/patient
relationship.
"Yes, Doctor. I slept well." Vader straightened into a
more relaxed position. "But I would appreciate it if
you would inform me of your visits _before_ you
arrive." The growl in Vader's voice was clear.
The doctor paused, processing this. He nodded,
smiling. "Certainly, Mr. Skywalker. A person needs
privacy. I was still thinking of you as a patient in
need of urgent care rather than a convalescent."
"Do you want me to report to sickbay?"
"No need." The EMH scanned him with a medical
tricorder. "Would you prefer your medications in pill
or liquid form?"
Vader hesitated. Then, "Liquid."
The EMH nodded. "Replicator. Twice a day, medication
ess-kay zero one, liquid form. Signal the patient when
the dose is due to be taken."
"Acknowledged," came the cool computer voice. A small
cup of brown liquid appeared on the replicator
platform. The hologram picked it up and handed it to
Vader.
"The replicator will produce medicines?"
The EMH lifted an eyebrow -- it just had, hadn't it?
"With the appropriate overrides, yes. Drink up. I'm
told that the flavoring makes it not unpleasant."
Vader sipped. A little sweet, like so many of these
people's foods and drinks. The doctor watched until he
finished the dose. "If you take your medicine on
schedule, I won't have to hunt you down with a
hypo-spray."
"I understand. Is there anything else?"
"You're in better shape than I expected." The hologram
looked at the cocoa dripping onto the floor. "I don't
imagine Mister Paris told you how to use the
housekeeping facilities."
Vader half-grinned, "No. He didn't."
Vader listened carefully. Cleaning spills was a matter
of using _Voyager's_ transporter technology to remove
the errant material. "Ingenious."
The EMH nodded. "It _does_ simplify keeping the
sickbay sterile." The doctor clicked off the
tricorder. "Tomorrow morning, then. And I will
announce my arrival."
Vader blinked -- the EMH was no longer there. Not that
the doctor's sometimes abrupt manners surprised him
any longer -- he was reminded of more than one medical
droid of his acquaintance.
Vader sighed. He was glad that _Voyager_ didn't
employ hologram crewmen in more positions. Dealing
with the doctor left him edgy -- his Force perceptions
had nothing to relate to, not even the electrical
flows of a droid.
Being required to deal with more holograms would drive
him mad.
Vader ordered fresh servings of his meal. Then he
switched from studying the Delta Flyer to Federation
history. The species mentioned in the chronicles were
all unknown to him -- Vulcans, Romulans, Andorians,
Betazeds, Klingons, a hundred more, including the more
recent enemies the Ferenghi, the Cardassians, and the
Borg.
The Federation expanded by using diplomacy, not
conquest. The tactics of the Klingons or Romulans were
more familiar, but it seemed this Federation was more
successful than more combative societies.
Vader finished his breakfast and had put his dishes
into the reclaimer before Tom Paris arrived. The door
chimed, then opened. "Good morning." The younger man
sniffed -- the aroma of the cocoa was still in the
air. "I see you're an early bird, Admiral."
The inference was obvious, if a touch planet-bound.
"Long ago, I found I could get work done uninterrupted
if I started before normal 'office hours.' And I do
not care much for sleep." Sleep was either nightmares
or a little death -- both hateful.
"Then I take it you're ready to meet the Delta Flyer?"
Vader's face broke into a grin. "Certainly."
Paris led the way to the hangar. Once inside, he let
Vader spend time looking the ship over.
Vader compared the flyer with the schematics in his
head. It was larger than he expected -- he was still
having trouble converting his measurements into
Federation units.
"A very nice ship, Mister Paris." Vader's hand slid
gently over the smooth surface of the vessel. Small
craft had been his first passion, swiftly and agilely
dancing, along a race course or though space.
Tom Paris didn't try to hide his broad smile. The
Admiral had the heart of a pilot, and it showed.
"Yeah, I'm kind of fond of it. Care to look inside?"
Vader, half-crippled, almost beat Paris to the hatch.
A simple inspection at first, comparing Federation
instrument layout with Imperial standard. He asked
Paris why some readouts were at what angles, but the
younger man just shrugged. "Some things have just been
that way for ages. It's easier than re-training your
existing pilots to radically new designs every few
years."
Vader nodded. "Ideally, training insures that your
hand goes to the right place, before you have a chance
to think about it. I understand."
Paris opened a panel in the cockpit and let Vader have
a look inside. The components looked mostly
Federation-standard, but there were some odd-looking
bits... "Neelix donated those. They work better than
the chips I had earlier."
"Neelix. Your cook."
"Neelix is a lot more than just a cook." Paris's voice
was strange, filtered through the baffles of
circuitry. "Among other things, he's got his own ship.
Any pilot is a jackleg mechanic if he intends to get
to his next port -- unless he's got a big enough crew
to have an engineer."
Vader hmmed. "I've been in that situation myself."
Hesitantly, "Can I have a look at your warp drives?"
Paris opened up the repair panels on the flyer's warp
drive. Vader studied the visible parts, then reached
out with his Force perceptions. The energy conduits
were clean, but...
"Give me a quick rundown again on warp theory, please?"
Tom grinned. "You want the Naomi Wildman version?"
Vader made a noise that Paris chose to interpret as a "yes."
"Naomi says the engines make a bubble, and the bubble
lets the ship float on top of normal space, like a
bubble floating on water. The ship moves like there's
wind blowing the bubble, except that the ship aims
itself, instead of the bubble going where the wind
blows it."
Vader pulled his concentration back to Tom's words."What?"
"Naomi's one of the pre-adolescents on board. Her
mother's one of the crew. But Naomi's got a good,
non-technical grasp of how a warp drive works."
Vader nodded. "Any faster than light drive has to drop
the ship out of normal space. I thought I read that
your drives dive into and out of normal space at a
high cyclical rate."
"Yours don't?"
Vader shrugged, "I worked mostly on normal-space fighters."
Paris's eyebrow rose. Didn't remember, didn't know, or
wouldn't say? "Let's get you up to speed on our STL
engines first, then, before we introduce you to warp
drives."
Tom glanced over at a console. "Time for lunch. I
think you've worked long enough for your first day on
the job, sir."
Vader ignored the implied invitation. "You may leave
if you wish, Lieutenant." He continued tracing
circuits, comparing them to his memorized studies.
Tom grinned at the automatic reply. This guy
_had_ to have been a commanding officer. "You
don't want me to get into trouble with the doc, do
you?"
Admiral Skywalker turned towards Paris with a puzzled
look on his face. Then the situation sank in. "No," he
answered evenly, "we would not want that, would we."
The prospect of having to allow himself to be lectured
by the EMH for missing a meal was not at all pleasant.
Vader helped Paris secure the open panels, then
followed him out of the flyer. "I think Neelix has
some things on the stove that you might enjoy."
Vader shook his head. "I would prefer to dine by
myself. It's a luxury I treasure after days of having
the doctor hover over me, making sure I finish my
vegetables."
Tom sputtered with laughter. "I see what you mean."
Paris escorted Vader to his quarters. "I'll check the
duty roster and see when your next assignment is. In
the mean time, you've got the doctor's instructions
for physical activity."
"Yes, I do." Vader sighed. Paris's company had
suddenly become less than pleasant -- the younger
man's tone had slipped from that of a fellow pilot to
that of assistant medic. "Go. Have lunch."
Tom shrugged. "Later, then."
Vader watched the young man depart and shook his head.
So much like other young officers under his command.
Vader turned to the comm console. Something had
occurred to him while in the hangar -- the database of
_Voyager_ could be searched, the same way those at
home could.
It took only a moment of concentration to set up a
search. Vader rattled off a long list of planets,
systems, and historical names -- including Anakin
Skywalker --, asking the computer for any local
correlations. As an afterthought, he added the the
words "Sith" and "Jedi," and, finally, the names of
some foods and drinks.
Actually, food sounded like a good idea. "Replicator.
List of available foods. Randomize the list."
The names of some of the dishes sounded appetizing,
some less so, some were utterly repellant. Vader chose
one, tried it. Then another. A third, then a fourth.
Some of these were quite good, but none had the taste
of home.
The computer console chimed. "Requested search
completed. Display or verbal report?"
Vader's pulse leaped. "Both. Verbal first. What did
you find?"
*********
B'Lanna was already waiting for Tom at a table. "Hi.
Where's your shadow?" Tom read that as happy he was
here, unhappy he was late, happy he was alone, worried
that there was something wrong with the man Tom, after
all, _was_ responsible for.
"He wanted to eat by himself. Said he'd had enough
company in sickbay to last him a good while."
B'Lanna scowled. She knew the doctor could be
infuriating, but... "You're spending an awful lot of
time with him." The undertone was, "Instead of with
your wife."
Tom turned to pick up some food, stopped. "Not here."
B'Lanna simmered, but kept quiet. This was a family
matter, and Tom was right -- it shouldn't be aired in
public. "You let him see the Delta Flyer."
Tom smiled. Mentioning the flyer usually mellowed him
out, even in the middle of a fight. "B'Lanna, you
should see this guy... He's a natural engineer. He
touches a machine and just knows how it ticks. If it's
totally new to him, he needs some basic explanations
but he picks up on it so quickly... I don't know how
he does it."
B'Lanna snapped, "Maybe he's using those so-called
'powers' of his everyone's talking about. Is he still
as hostile as he was? It doesn't look like he's torn
you to pieces."
"As far as I can tell, he thought we were his enemies
when we brought him aboard. He was less than half
conscious, and nearly dead from his injuries. I can
remember when attack would have been your first
response, too.
"Now, he's a lot quieter. I think it's finally
occurred to him how far from home he really is.
Further than we are, B'Lanna."
Captain Janeway noticed Paris and Torres sitting
together at the table when she walked in. She looked
around for a third, larger diner.
She walked over to Tom and B'Lanna. "Where's Mister
Skywalker?"
Tom was startled at the sound of his captain's voice.
"He said he wanted to eat alone. I don't think he's
comfortable eating in company."
Janeway nodded. "I guess I have to go to him, then, if
I want to talk. Tom, I expect to see a report on his
reaction to the Delta Flyer before lights out."
The captain waved amicably at the pair and left the
messhall, never noticing B'Lanna's scowl at her back.
****
The door to Skywalker's quarters chimed, then slid
aside. Janeway entered the room just as a dish of
something green and leafy went sailing past her head,
impacting the corridor wall behind her.
The pitcher was easy enough to identify. The
convalescent had another missile in his hand, this one
a cup of cocoa?
Janeway snapped, "Skywalker!"
Vader froze, then snarled, wordlessly. But he didn't
throw the next missile, either.
The doors slid behind Janeway. Skywalker's hand
dropped slowly, and he put the cup on the console
beside him -- a console with a library document on it,
something from a fairy tale? Why would that have set
off his temper?
"Explain yourself, Mister." She waved at the
assortment of dishes first... "You were told we were
on short replicator rations." She had to steel herself
not to grin at the childishness -- she had seen
admirals throw temper tantrums in private before, and
this had all the earmarks.
"And even if we weren't, if you feel the need to
exercise your throwing skills, we have sports
facilities." She looked over her shoulder and saw
marks of earlier collisions of food and door. "I'm
waiting for an explanation."
"A fairy tale," Vader snarled. "I had your computer
search for my region of space, and there is nothing
similar in your database except the mention of a group
called the Sith -- but they were Earth mythology long
before you achieved spaceflight."
That explained the temper-tantrum, but not the buffet.
And it excused neither. "I see. You've just discovered
you're farther from home than _we_ are. So you
react like a child separated from his mother for the
first time against his will."
One of the lump-filled stains behind Janeway on the
door was still sliding down. "First, you're going to
clean up the mess you've made. Then... I'm afraid
this will cost you your replicator privileges for a
while. You're to take your meals in the dining hall."
Counting the dishes with only a bite or two (or
sometimes none) taken from them -- not that she blamed
him, since he had managed to order Klingon gakh, and
it was still moving -- "Neelix will arrange for you to
sample everything on the menu if you want, without
having to order entire servings."
Vader bent and picked up one of the plates -- some of
the food was still clinging to it, in a sticky sauce.
"I do not care to eat in company."
"When your behavior improves, your replicator
privileges will be returned. Even those will be
limited at first"
Silence, but the man continued to clean up the mess he
had made. Someone had apparently showed him how to use
the housekeeping utilities -- had he thrown another
tantrum that hadn't been reported? She would have to
grill Paris -- or maybe the doctor had not bothered
her with a report of a minor incident.
"Very well. Someone will escort you to the dining hall
at 1800. Computer, suspend replicator function for
this suite for the time being."
"Captain..."
Judging from the tone of voice, that wasn't a protest
of loss of privilege, but something else. "Yes, Mister
Skywalker?"
"The replicator is programmed to issue medicine to me
twice a day. I would prefer to still receive that
here, rather than having to report to sickbay."
By this point, the only sign of the tantrum left was a
stain on the corridor wall outside, where Skywalker's
suite couldn't clean. She nodded curtly. "Computer.
Restore medical replicator functions to this suite."
Then she looked at the stack of dishes still on the
table-top. "Were you looking for something in
particular?"
Vader relaxed when the captain reprogrammed the
replicator -- dealing with the EMH would not improve
his temper right now. "I was trying to see if any of
your foods were at all similar to what I had at home."
There was a catch in his voice at the last word.
"Nothing. Your tastes are alien."
Janeway's eyebrow rose. "You had no chance to
experiment while you were still in sickbay?"
Vader snorted. "The doctor had some very definite
ideas as to what was suitable. And not much
imagination."
Janeway laughed. Vader was startled, then joined her.
He looked at the stack of dishes, and had a sudden
vision of what Governor Tarkin's reaction would have
been to the food-throwing. Or Motte's or... Or his
son's. Or even Tom Paris's.
Janeway swung the computer display to face her. "I'm
not familiar with this fairy tale. Is there an Irish
equivalent?"
****
Tuvok was waiting for Janeway just out of
line-of-sight of the convalescent quarters. She smiled
at his predictable behavior. "The doctor reported some
non-typical readings from our guest. I thought it best
if I were here for a swift response."
"If our guest goes on a rampage, your best response
would be a heavy stun to his location, then we can
sort out the combatants."
"Yes, Captain." Tuvok touched his comm badge and told
a listener to stand down. "And in this case, Captain,
who was Skywalker attacking?"
"His own failing morale, Mister Tuvok. He had the
computer try to track down his home, and there is
literally nothing in our databanks leading to anywhere
he knows. He's either from a different galaxy
entirely, or from somewhere else in time. The past, so
far that no records remain of his Empire, or the
future."
Janeway grimaced, not caring for the possibility of
another visit from the "Time Patrol," her name for the
enforcers of the Temporal Prime Directive. Still, if
Skywalker were from the future, the temporal police
had a chance of getting him home. In her estimation,
_Voyager_didn't.
The two Starfleet officers walked toward the turbolift
that would take them to the bridge.
"There is still another possibility, Captain," Tuvok
continued. "You have read the reports of the parallel
universe encountered by Captain Kirk, wherein the
Federation was instead an Empire, in which promotion
was by assassination?"
Janeway shook her head. "I'm familiar with the
parallel universe, but it isn't his. The place names
and races were nearly identical to ours -- he would
have found equivalents."
"I agree. I present, instead, the theory of a universe
less than parallel, but which was able to intersect
ours by means of that wormhole. Such an opening might
never occur again. Or, if one end opens -- our end, or
it is irrelevant -- , the other might not return him
to his own place."
Janeway nodded. "I'm not sure whether we should try to
get him home, or just persuade him to resign himself
to exile."
"_Voyager_ does not have the resources to spend
on extensive experiments in wormhole 'cultivation.'
You are responsible for the welfare of more than this
one man, Captain. No matter how intriguing you find
him."
Janeway lifted an eyebrow. She wasn't sure she liked
the implications of that last statement. Nor if she
dared contest it.
Tuvok's expression stayed blank. Janeway expected no
less.
By Iejasu and Miklinar
Vader woke up and stretched. He smiled -- after so
many days in sickbay with no difference between sleep
wear and day wear, he had forgotten to change. Not
that the clock had ruled his clothing habits for a
long time before that -- maintenance schedules, yes.
He spent longer than he expected in the fresher,
enjoying the privacy and the sensations against his
bare skin. Bare skin! and no breathing apparatus!
Hunger finally drove him out of the fresher. He stood
in front of the replicator... something familiar
first, a breakfast the doctor had put on his permitted
menu several times. "Pancakes. Maple syrup." And what
was that beverage...? "Hot cocoa."
The air above the replicator platform sparkled and
solidified. Vader nodded -- it looked and smelled the
way he remembered. He took the dishes over to the
table and started eating, bringing up the viewscreen
with the Delta Flyer schematics.
"Good morning, Mister Skywalker."
The sudden voice with no entry noises or comm chime
startled him. He leaped up into a combat-ready
position -- overturning his food and drink as well.
Vader snarled when he realized it was only the EMH.
The doctor was standing in the middle of the room. He
scowled for an instant at Vader's reaction. "I trust
you slept well?"
The guest _had_ slept well, despite his usual
nightmares; the readouts were clear on that. The
Doctor had learned that asking about his patient's
condition helped maintain a good doctor/patient
relationship.
"Yes, Doctor. I slept well." Vader straightened into a
more relaxed position. "But I would appreciate it if
you would inform me of your visits _before_ you
arrive." The growl in Vader's voice was clear.
The doctor paused, processing this. He nodded,
smiling. "Certainly, Mr. Skywalker. A person needs
privacy. I was still thinking of you as a patient in
need of urgent care rather than a convalescent."
"Do you want me to report to sickbay?"
"No need." The EMH scanned him with a medical
tricorder. "Would you prefer your medications in pill
or liquid form?"
Vader hesitated. Then, "Liquid."
The EMH nodded. "Replicator. Twice a day, medication
ess-kay zero one, liquid form. Signal the patient when
the dose is due to be taken."
"Acknowledged," came the cool computer voice. A small
cup of brown liquid appeared on the replicator
platform. The hologram picked it up and handed it to
Vader.
"The replicator will produce medicines?"
The EMH lifted an eyebrow -- it just had, hadn't it?
"With the appropriate overrides, yes. Drink up. I'm
told that the flavoring makes it not unpleasant."
Vader sipped. A little sweet, like so many of these
people's foods and drinks. The doctor watched until he
finished the dose. "If you take your medicine on
schedule, I won't have to hunt you down with a
hypo-spray."
"I understand. Is there anything else?"
"You're in better shape than I expected." The hologram
looked at the cocoa dripping onto the floor. "I don't
imagine Mister Paris told you how to use the
housekeeping facilities."
Vader half-grinned, "No. He didn't."
Vader listened carefully. Cleaning spills was a matter
of using _Voyager's_ transporter technology to remove
the errant material. "Ingenious."
The EMH nodded. "It _does_ simplify keeping the
sickbay sterile." The doctor clicked off the
tricorder. "Tomorrow morning, then. And I will
announce my arrival."
Vader blinked -- the EMH was no longer there. Not that
the doctor's sometimes abrupt manners surprised him
any longer -- he was reminded of more than one medical
droid of his acquaintance.
Vader sighed. He was glad that _Voyager_ didn't
employ hologram crewmen in more positions. Dealing
with the doctor left him edgy -- his Force perceptions
had nothing to relate to, not even the electrical
flows of a droid.
Being required to deal with more holograms would drive
him mad.
Vader ordered fresh servings of his meal. Then he
switched from studying the Delta Flyer to Federation
history. The species mentioned in the chronicles were
all unknown to him -- Vulcans, Romulans, Andorians,
Betazeds, Klingons, a hundred more, including the more
recent enemies the Ferenghi, the Cardassians, and the
Borg.
The Federation expanded by using diplomacy, not
conquest. The tactics of the Klingons or Romulans were
more familiar, but it seemed this Federation was more
successful than more combative societies.
Vader finished his breakfast and had put his dishes
into the reclaimer before Tom Paris arrived. The door
chimed, then opened. "Good morning." The younger man
sniffed -- the aroma of the cocoa was still in the
air. "I see you're an early bird, Admiral."
The inference was obvious, if a touch planet-bound.
"Long ago, I found I could get work done uninterrupted
if I started before normal 'office hours.' And I do
not care much for sleep." Sleep was either nightmares
or a little death -- both hateful.
"Then I take it you're ready to meet the Delta Flyer?"
Vader's face broke into a grin. "Certainly."
Paris led the way to the hangar. Once inside, he let
Vader spend time looking the ship over.
Vader compared the flyer with the schematics in his
head. It was larger than he expected -- he was still
having trouble converting his measurements into
Federation units.
"A very nice ship, Mister Paris." Vader's hand slid
gently over the smooth surface of the vessel. Small
craft had been his first passion, swiftly and agilely
dancing, along a race course or though space.
Tom Paris didn't try to hide his broad smile. The
Admiral had the heart of a pilot, and it showed.
"Yeah, I'm kind of fond of it. Care to look inside?"
Vader, half-crippled, almost beat Paris to the hatch.
A simple inspection at first, comparing Federation
instrument layout with Imperial standard. He asked
Paris why some readouts were at what angles, but the
younger man just shrugged. "Some things have just been
that way for ages. It's easier than re-training your
existing pilots to radically new designs every few
years."
Vader nodded. "Ideally, training insures that your
hand goes to the right place, before you have a chance
to think about it. I understand."
Paris opened a panel in the cockpit and let Vader have
a look inside. The components looked mostly
Federation-standard, but there were some odd-looking
bits... "Neelix donated those. They work better than
the chips I had earlier."
"Neelix. Your cook."
"Neelix is a lot more than just a cook." Paris's voice
was strange, filtered through the baffles of
circuitry. "Among other things, he's got his own ship.
Any pilot is a jackleg mechanic if he intends to get
to his next port -- unless he's got a big enough crew
to have an engineer."
Vader hmmed. "I've been in that situation myself."
Hesitantly, "Can I have a look at your warp drives?"
Paris opened up the repair panels on the flyer's warp
drive. Vader studied the visible parts, then reached
out with his Force perceptions. The energy conduits
were clean, but...
"Give me a quick rundown again on warp theory, please?"
Tom grinned. "You want the Naomi Wildman version?"
Vader made a noise that Paris chose to interpret as a "yes."
"Naomi says the engines make a bubble, and the bubble
lets the ship float on top of normal space, like a
bubble floating on water. The ship moves like there's
wind blowing the bubble, except that the ship aims
itself, instead of the bubble going where the wind
blows it."
Vader pulled his concentration back to Tom's words."What?"
"Naomi's one of the pre-adolescents on board. Her
mother's one of the crew. But Naomi's got a good,
non-technical grasp of how a warp drive works."
Vader nodded. "Any faster than light drive has to drop
the ship out of normal space. I thought I read that
your drives dive into and out of normal space at a
high cyclical rate."
"Yours don't?"
Vader shrugged, "I worked mostly on normal-space fighters."
Paris's eyebrow rose. Didn't remember, didn't know, or
wouldn't say? "Let's get you up to speed on our STL
engines first, then, before we introduce you to warp
drives."
Tom glanced over at a console. "Time for lunch. I
think you've worked long enough for your first day on
the job, sir."
Vader ignored the implied invitation. "You may leave
if you wish, Lieutenant." He continued tracing
circuits, comparing them to his memorized studies.
Tom grinned at the automatic reply. This guy
_had_ to have been a commanding officer. "You
don't want me to get into trouble with the doc, do
you?"
Admiral Skywalker turned towards Paris with a puzzled
look on his face. Then the situation sank in. "No," he
answered evenly, "we would not want that, would we."
The prospect of having to allow himself to be lectured
by the EMH for missing a meal was not at all pleasant.
Vader helped Paris secure the open panels, then
followed him out of the flyer. "I think Neelix has
some things on the stove that you might enjoy."
Vader shook his head. "I would prefer to dine by
myself. It's a luxury I treasure after days of having
the doctor hover over me, making sure I finish my
vegetables."
Tom sputtered with laughter. "I see what you mean."
Paris escorted Vader to his quarters. "I'll check the
duty roster and see when your next assignment is. In
the mean time, you've got the doctor's instructions
for physical activity."
"Yes, I do." Vader sighed. Paris's company had
suddenly become less than pleasant -- the younger
man's tone had slipped from that of a fellow pilot to
that of assistant medic. "Go. Have lunch."
Tom shrugged. "Later, then."
Vader watched the young man depart and shook his head.
So much like other young officers under his command.
Vader turned to the comm console. Something had
occurred to him while in the hangar -- the database of
_Voyager_ could be searched, the same way those at
home could.
It took only a moment of concentration to set up a
search. Vader rattled off a long list of planets,
systems, and historical names -- including Anakin
Skywalker --, asking the computer for any local
correlations. As an afterthought, he added the the
words "Sith" and "Jedi," and, finally, the names of
some foods and drinks.
Actually, food sounded like a good idea. "Replicator.
List of available foods. Randomize the list."
The names of some of the dishes sounded appetizing,
some less so, some were utterly repellant. Vader chose
one, tried it. Then another. A third, then a fourth.
Some of these were quite good, but none had the taste
of home.
The computer console chimed. "Requested search
completed. Display or verbal report?"
Vader's pulse leaped. "Both. Verbal first. What did
you find?"
*********
B'Lanna was already waiting for Tom at a table. "Hi.
Where's your shadow?" Tom read that as happy he was
here, unhappy he was late, happy he was alone, worried
that there was something wrong with the man Tom, after
all, _was_ responsible for.
"He wanted to eat by himself. Said he'd had enough
company in sickbay to last him a good while."
B'Lanna scowled. She knew the doctor could be
infuriating, but... "You're spending an awful lot of
time with him." The undertone was, "Instead of with
your wife."
Tom turned to pick up some food, stopped. "Not here."
B'Lanna simmered, but kept quiet. This was a family
matter, and Tom was right -- it shouldn't be aired in
public. "You let him see the Delta Flyer."
Tom smiled. Mentioning the flyer usually mellowed him
out, even in the middle of a fight. "B'Lanna, you
should see this guy... He's a natural engineer. He
touches a machine and just knows how it ticks. If it's
totally new to him, he needs some basic explanations
but he picks up on it so quickly... I don't know how
he does it."
B'Lanna snapped, "Maybe he's using those so-called
'powers' of his everyone's talking about. Is he still
as hostile as he was? It doesn't look like he's torn
you to pieces."
"As far as I can tell, he thought we were his enemies
when we brought him aboard. He was less than half
conscious, and nearly dead from his injuries. I can
remember when attack would have been your first
response, too.
"Now, he's a lot quieter. I think it's finally
occurred to him how far from home he really is.
Further than we are, B'Lanna."
Captain Janeway noticed Paris and Torres sitting
together at the table when she walked in. She looked
around for a third, larger diner.
She walked over to Tom and B'Lanna. "Where's Mister
Skywalker?"
Tom was startled at the sound of his captain's voice.
"He said he wanted to eat alone. I don't think he's
comfortable eating in company."
Janeway nodded. "I guess I have to go to him, then, if
I want to talk. Tom, I expect to see a report on his
reaction to the Delta Flyer before lights out."
The captain waved amicably at the pair and left the
messhall, never noticing B'Lanna's scowl at her back.
****
The door to Skywalker's quarters chimed, then slid
aside. Janeway entered the room just as a dish of
something green and leafy went sailing past her head,
impacting the corridor wall behind her.
The pitcher was easy enough to identify. The
convalescent had another missile in his hand, this one
a cup of cocoa?
Janeway snapped, "Skywalker!"
Vader froze, then snarled, wordlessly. But he didn't
throw the next missile, either.
The doors slid behind Janeway. Skywalker's hand
dropped slowly, and he put the cup on the console
beside him -- a console with a library document on it,
something from a fairy tale? Why would that have set
off his temper?
"Explain yourself, Mister." She waved at the
assortment of dishes first... "You were told we were
on short replicator rations." She had to steel herself
not to grin at the childishness -- she had seen
admirals throw temper tantrums in private before, and
this had all the earmarks.
"And even if we weren't, if you feel the need to
exercise your throwing skills, we have sports
facilities." She looked over her shoulder and saw
marks of earlier collisions of food and door. "I'm
waiting for an explanation."
"A fairy tale," Vader snarled. "I had your computer
search for my region of space, and there is nothing
similar in your database except the mention of a group
called the Sith -- but they were Earth mythology long
before you achieved spaceflight."
That explained the temper-tantrum, but not the buffet.
And it excused neither. "I see. You've just discovered
you're farther from home than _we_ are. So you
react like a child separated from his mother for the
first time against his will."
One of the lump-filled stains behind Janeway on the
door was still sliding down. "First, you're going to
clean up the mess you've made. Then... I'm afraid
this will cost you your replicator privileges for a
while. You're to take your meals in the dining hall."
Counting the dishes with only a bite or two (or
sometimes none) taken from them -- not that she blamed
him, since he had managed to order Klingon gakh, and
it was still moving -- "Neelix will arrange for you to
sample everything on the menu if you want, without
having to order entire servings."
Vader bent and picked up one of the plates -- some of
the food was still clinging to it, in a sticky sauce.
"I do not care to eat in company."
"When your behavior improves, your replicator
privileges will be returned. Even those will be
limited at first"
Silence, but the man continued to clean up the mess he
had made. Someone had apparently showed him how to use
the housekeeping utilities -- had he thrown another
tantrum that hadn't been reported? She would have to
grill Paris -- or maybe the doctor had not bothered
her with a report of a minor incident.
"Very well. Someone will escort you to the dining hall
at 1800. Computer, suspend replicator function for
this suite for the time being."
"Captain..."
Judging from the tone of voice, that wasn't a protest
of loss of privilege, but something else. "Yes, Mister
Skywalker?"
"The replicator is programmed to issue medicine to me
twice a day. I would prefer to still receive that
here, rather than having to report to sickbay."
By this point, the only sign of the tantrum left was a
stain on the corridor wall outside, where Skywalker's
suite couldn't clean. She nodded curtly. "Computer.
Restore medical replicator functions to this suite."
Then she looked at the stack of dishes still on the
table-top. "Were you looking for something in
particular?"
Vader relaxed when the captain reprogrammed the
replicator -- dealing with the EMH would not improve
his temper right now. "I was trying to see if any of
your foods were at all similar to what I had at home."
There was a catch in his voice at the last word.
"Nothing. Your tastes are alien."
Janeway's eyebrow rose. "You had no chance to
experiment while you were still in sickbay?"
Vader snorted. "The doctor had some very definite
ideas as to what was suitable. And not much
imagination."
Janeway laughed. Vader was startled, then joined her.
He looked at the stack of dishes, and had a sudden
vision of what Governor Tarkin's reaction would have
been to the food-throwing. Or Motte's or... Or his
son's. Or even Tom Paris's.
Janeway swung the computer display to face her. "I'm
not familiar with this fairy tale. Is there an Irish
equivalent?"
****
Tuvok was waiting for Janeway just out of
line-of-sight of the convalescent quarters. She smiled
at his predictable behavior. "The doctor reported some
non-typical readings from our guest. I thought it best
if I were here for a swift response."
"If our guest goes on a rampage, your best response
would be a heavy stun to his location, then we can
sort out the combatants."
"Yes, Captain." Tuvok touched his comm badge and told
a listener to stand down. "And in this case, Captain,
who was Skywalker attacking?"
"His own failing morale, Mister Tuvok. He had the
computer try to track down his home, and there is
literally nothing in our databanks leading to anywhere
he knows. He's either from a different galaxy
entirely, or from somewhere else in time. The past, so
far that no records remain of his Empire, or the
future."
Janeway grimaced, not caring for the possibility of
another visit from the "Time Patrol," her name for the
enforcers of the Temporal Prime Directive. Still, if
Skywalker were from the future, the temporal police
had a chance of getting him home. In her estimation,
_Voyager_didn't.
The two Starfleet officers walked toward the turbolift
that would take them to the bridge.
"There is still another possibility, Captain," Tuvok
continued. "You have read the reports of the parallel
universe encountered by Captain Kirk, wherein the
Federation was instead an Empire, in which promotion
was by assassination?"
Janeway shook her head. "I'm familiar with the
parallel universe, but it isn't his. The place names
and races were nearly identical to ours -- he would
have found equivalents."
"I agree. I present, instead, the theory of a universe
less than parallel, but which was able to intersect
ours by means of that wormhole. Such an opening might
never occur again. Or, if one end opens -- our end, or
it is irrelevant -- , the other might not return him
to his own place."
Janeway nodded. "I'm not sure whether we should try to
get him home, or just persuade him to resign himself
to exile."
"_Voyager_ does not have the resources to spend
on extensive experiments in wormhole 'cultivation.'
You are responsible for the welfare of more than this
one man, Captain. No matter how intriguing you find
him."
Janeway lifted an eyebrow. She wasn't sure she liked
the implications of that last statement. Nor if she
dared contest it.
Tuvok's expression stayed blank. Janeway expected no
less.