Star Voyager - Part 10

By Iejasu and Miklinar

The dishes were absorbed by the recycler in his quarters, and Vader had spent
more time in the refresher, letting the hot water pound his muscles. Finally,
he shut down the shower and stepped into the dressing area. "Computer. The
doctor has authorized physical exercise for me as therapy. What are my options?"

The list, in the computer's blandly pleasant voice, was lengthy but unhelpful,
consisting mostly of sports unfamiliar to him, half of which ended in the word
"ball." Then the words "martial arts" caught his attention. "Computer. Is there
a combat form with sticks a meter to a meter and a half long, or blades the
same length? Hand grip to accomodate two hands."

The computer listed several, unfamiliar names of course, but... "Display the
equipment used for each of those combat forms. Are any of them still used in
real combat? Or are they only sport now?"

The screen flickered. One of the forms was something called "kendo", and the
illustration of the origin of the sport included a combatant in a suit of
samurai armor.

Vader stared at the picture, scarcely breathing. Then, "Computer, show me
of this 'kendo' sport."

=============

"He's doing _what_?" Janeway in her ready room, as Paris and Kim stopped in
to report on the convalescent.

"Skywalker is in one of the gyms, practicing something that looks a lot like
kendo kata. And you know, Captain, the helmet that was with his life-support
suit looks a bit like a samurai helmet."

Harry Kim nodded. "I'm not that familiar with Japanese, but none of the names
he mentioned sounded like it. So he's not from some lost Japanese space
colony. People who would take the culture with them even to the extent of
armor designs would hold onto their language."

Tom grinned, "A pity. If it had been an Earth colony, there would be a chance
of a shortcut home."

Janeway nodded. "Computer. Locate Skywalker."

"Anakin Skywalker is in gymnasium three."

"Can we have a visual?"

A viewscreen lit. There was an image of Skywalker, in overalls, swinging a
bo-ken through obviously stylized movements. "That's odd..."

"I see it, too, Mister Kim. He isn't paying any attention to edge surfaces.
It's as if he expects the blade to cut from any angle."

Paris's voice, cheerfully, "Maybe he should try the singlestick instead of a
sword."

Janeway took another sip of tea as she studied Skywalker. "I wonder how he
would do against an opponent? Computer! Is there anyone on board who's
practicing this martial art?"

"Not at this time."

"When was the last time the equipment was used?"

"Three years, seven months, four days."

Janeway nodded. She was reluctant to ask who, lest it be one of the crew who
hadn't survived this long.

"Are there any others practicing weaponed forms of any martial arts?"

Tom groaned just before the computer spoke. "Lieutenant B'Lanna Torres practices
with the Klingon batleth at semi-regular intervals."

Janeway turned and looked at Paris.

Paris shook his head. "That's a very bad idea, Captain. They would kill each
other."

Kim, puzzled, "I'm sure there are holodeck programs of kendo classes. Why don't
you just suggest one of those to him?"

Janeway hastily swallowed her mouthful of tea. Paris was trying to keep a laugh
from exploding. "That... would not be a good idea," he finally choked out.

Janeway started to nod, stopped. "I don't know. Do you think he might appreciate
taking a swing or two at a hologram? I'm sure he's been tempted by the doctor."

==============

"What is this place?"

Tuvok was watching, Paris knew -- Paris hoped. "It's called a holodeck."

Skywalker scowled. "More creatures like your EMH?"

"In a way. but I think you'll like this program. Computer. Kendo One."

The walls shimmered and became translucent panels in thin black frames, with
woven-fiber mats on the floor. At one end of the room knelt a man in what
might be Jedi robes! The four students(?) facing the robed man wore short
wrapped tunics very similar to Padawan practice clothing.

Paris watched Skywalker. The older man's shoulders bunched and relaxed, and then
bunched again. "What is this? Do you mock me?"

"Is it familiar? This is the standard beginners' class for the weapon form you
were practicing."

"The details are wrong... and the people are not here. They're like that doctor
of yours, not real at all."

"Exactly like the doctor. Programmed with a set of behaviors." Paris said,
"Program, begin."

The kneeling man in robes rose, approached Paris and Vader. He bowed. "Welcome
to my school. Which of you wishes to become a student?"

Paris bowed, a little lower than the hologram, and Vader followed suit after a
short hesitation. "I'd like you to test Mister Skywalker here, and find out
where he belongs in our lessons, sensei. He's trained, but in a slightly
different form."

The sensei nodded curtly. "Very well. I will test him."

One of the "students" approached and led Vader to a changing room, where he was
given a practice uniform. The material felt very familiar, and the cut... "You
are a student here?" Then he reddened. He was trying to have a conversation with
a computer program.

"Yes, I am a student here." The student rattled off a set of rules, something
it called "courtesy of the mat." Vader nodded, barely listening. "Come with me."

Back to the dojo. Paris was sitting on the sideline, watching. The student
stopped and bowed just as it entered, not to the teacher but to the room.

Vader hesitated and then bowed. Paris nodded, ever so faintly. Good. No
disasters on the scopes, not yet...

The teacher -- sensei? -- rose to his feet again. "I will test you now." One
of the students approached with a wooden sword in his hand. Damn. Vader had
been so accustomed to a lightsaber that he had no skill with an edged weapon.
He glanced over at Paris. At least the young man didn't know that Vader had
borne high rank in his own form, embarrassed to have to begin again.

"Show me your practice forms. In kendo, they are called 'kata'."

Vader swept through a dozen poses, concentrating on leading with the edge of
his wooden weapon. Only once did the teacher signal for him to stop, and
correct his angle of attack. "I see. You have experience, but in the combat
form rather than the sport."

"How can you tell?"

"You are more focused in arriving at the next pose with strength than with
grace. I will now test you against an opponent." The sensei raised a hand
and the student returned. "Armor him."

===========

Vader returned to his quarters tired but pleased. He had fared better than
he had expected in an unfamiliar form. In fact, the holographic nature of
his opponent threw him off more than the single-edge striking surface.

Back into the refresher, to sluice off the sweat of training. He heard the
door chime through the rush of water but ignored it.

A voice, in his room? How dare they?

"Admiral, it's dinner time. Are you ready?"

Vader cursed under his breath. Janeway had removed his solo dining privileges.
So he had to go out among the crew, and let himself be gawked at. It was almost
enough to cost him his appetite.

In fact, it had. The only thing keeping him from turning Paris around and then
retreating into either studies or sleep was the prospect of facing the doctor --
twice as annoying as any assortment of strangers.

"Just a minute."

One of the coveralls was still pristine -- one had been a casualty in the food
wars, making it useable for crawling around the flyer but not for dinner. Vader
dressed himself.

Paris was waiting. "Once I've taken you a couple of times to the dining hall,
you can go on your own. Same for the dojo."

Vader lifted an eyebrow. "I was able to find my way to the gymnasium with only
the computer for a guide. Is the dining hall more difficult?"

Tom quirked a grin. "Not exactly. The real labyrinth is inside -- the social
interactions. I wouldn't feel right just steering you to the door and running
off."

"Excellent. Then I won't suggest you spar with me."

Paris blinked. Was that humor? Or a veiled threat? "O--kay. Follow me."

One of the crew members passing seemed familiar -- it? he? she? reminded Vader
of the trip to Stores. "Can armor and a practice weapon be replicated so I can
keep them in my quarters, to practice?" Vader asked. Slyly, "It will be easier
for the doctor to monitor my condition, to prevent me from over-extending myself."

"Hm. With your size, it might not be a bad idea, at least for the armor. But
I think the computer can be set to monitor you in the gym, too. And the gym
will certainly give you more room for swinging that stick. I'm not sure you
can exercise your weapon's reach in your quarters without hitting the walls."

"I had not considered that. Are the holodecks rationed like the replicators?"

Tom didn't have a chance to answer. The door in front of them opened into a small
hall, capacity perhaps fifty people. There were only a handful of diners at
present. And the person behind the counter was the too-cheerful non-human who
had delivered the brandy to Vader, in the cell.

Neelix looked up and saw Tom Paris... and was that Mister Skywalker? Neelix had
never seen Skywalker outside his pressure suit, but there was no one else of
that size and build on board -- Neelix would have been told of any other
strangers arriving.

"Welcome, Mister Skywalker! You're looking well. What would you like for dinner?"
Neelix rattled off a dozen different selections, none familiar to Vader at all.

Tom had his orders. "Neelix, set up a plate with a little bit of everything. If
the Admiral likes something, he can ask for more of it. And give us a couple of
Cokes, to start with."

Neelix grinned and set to arranging small amounts of different foods in a
pleasing pattern on the plate. Paris sighed and ordered the drinks from the
replicator himself. "What other drinks have you tried?" Paris settled down
into a chair and put the two drinks on the table.

============
B'Lanna fumed. This was too much. "Computer, where is Tom Paris?"

"Lieutenant Paris is in the dining hall."

That was unexpected. "Where is Skywalker?"

"Anakin Skywalker is in the dining hall."

B'Lanna snarled and stalked out of their quarters.

=============

"And what is this?"

Neelix looked at the plate, trying to remember which food he had put where.
"I think that was the pot roast. Would you like some more?"

"What kind of animal is a 'pot'?"

Neelix kept the same cheerful expression, but one of the other diners giggled.
"It refers to the original method of cooking, pre-replicator. The actual meat
is beef, from a cow."

Vader nodded. He had encountered cow meat before. "Yes. More pot roast."

Tom looked up just in time to see the door slide open and an angry female
Klingon/human engineer stride in. He gulped back a "yikes!" and stood up.
"B'Lanna! I'm sorry -- my orders changed, and I got sidetracked before I
had a chance to tell you."

She took a deep breath, ready to launch a tirade... Something about the
stranger caught her attention. She scorned her mother's Klingon superstitions
about sensing the warrior spirit in others, but this man...

Why hadn't she noticed it, when she had met him on his way to Stores?

"Lieutenant Torres." The stranger's voice was deep. "Your mate has been ordered
by the captain to herd me to the dining hall. His duty is fulfilled -- I
release him to your tender mercies."

The outrageous statement completely disarmed Torres. She laughed. "Don't tell
me he hasn't been enjoying it."

"You knew that of him before you claimed him as a mate. Why would you change
him now?"

Paris's jaw dropped. B'Lanna was actually considering Skywalker's words. He'd
seen ships counselors take longer, with less dramatic results.

Then again, no doubt Skywalker knew the psychology of anger very well from
the inside. Paris's eyes narrowed. And was willing and able to use his knowledge
to manipulate others, for his own comfort.

=======================

Seven of Nine observed the new menber of the crew. During her last routine
medical examination, she had been forced to listen to the doctor babble on
about his newest patient, one Anakin Skywalker -- expecting her to be
interested because of Skywalker's cyborg components.

Those particular components were almost laughably primitive compared with Borg
technology, but she felt some sympathy with the stranger -- Captain Janeway was
apparently forcing him into a social situation he did not feel ready for, not
unlike herself. But the doctor had not mentioned any mechanism for linking into
a group mind, so the stranger could not possibly as alone as she felt herself
to be.

Skywalker looked over at Seven and looked puzzled. He leaned over toward Tom
Paris and asked him something in an undertone. Paris looked up and then answered
him. Tom then nodded toward her, with a little gesture that he had used before
to try to summon her. She quirked an eyebrow at Paris, and turned slightly away,
consuming the nutrients she had selected for this meal, so she could return
to duty.

Someone stood in her light, standing and not passing her to the food counter.
She looked up. And up. She came to her feet, backing up.

It was Skywalker. He stood silent, watching her. Finally, Seven spoke. "Do you
require something?"

"You are the only one in this crew who has cybernetic implants."

"Yes. I was formerly a member of the Borg Collective."

She saw his lips move slightly with the word "Borg," but there was no fear, no
hate, just curiosity. "Your cybernetic implants -- do they cause you difficulties?"

"At times, yes. But the doctor has not been able to enable my body to funtion
entirely without them. My current condition is a compromise."

She studied him in return, almost in self-defense. There was no sign he saw her
as a female, any more than he reacted to the label "Borg." In fact, his
curiosity... "You are an engineer."

"In my own 'collective', yes." He moved to where he could see her ocular implant
better. A small group was gathering around them -- this was a novelty to a crew
too well used to each other.

Paris came up and stood next to Skywalker. "Admiral, let her finish her dinner.
You'll be with us for a while -- plenty of time to talk to her."

Skywalker half-turned his head to notice Paris, then nodded ever so slightly.
"You are right, Mister Paris."

Seven turned and left the dining hall, her meal unfinished.

==========

This Seven female... Vader saw the obvious implants, but the Force-flows around
her were... unusual, to say the least. He was used to the feel of Paris and
Janeway, and was even resigned to the "empty air" of the EMH and the kendo
instructor and students. His face quirked in a twisted grin. Torres had a fine
depth to her anger -- if she had had any talent for using the Force, she could
have been an interesting apprentice.

But Seven... Almost a void in the Force, a bubble where it wasn't. It
couldn't be just the implants -- even ignoring his own case, there were many
of the old Jedi who had had artificial limbs or even artificial organs like
hearts or lungs.

Was it possible the Borg had learned a shielding technique? It certainly
wouldn't be useful for concealment, but it made her utterly unreadable by
any technique Vader knew that didn't require physical contact.

Fascinating.

Vader re-read the database entry on the Borg.

=====================

"Doctor, I would like to examine the medical records of the crewman called Seven
of Nine."

The EMH's voice was filtered through the comm system, removing some of the deeper
tones and sharpening the remainder. Yes, it was possible for his voice to become
more unpleasant. "I'm afraid I can't authorize your access to those records
unless I get a release from Seven herself."

Vader nodded curtly, "Do so," and cut the comm.

========

The EMH sputtered. How dare Skywalker order him -- _order_ him -- order _him_ --
to get Seven's consent to release her records to a mere medical layman? The
doctor had had quarrelsome patients before, but this Skywalker was inventing
new ways to be annoying at every turn.

The hologram filed Skywalker's "request" on his job queue -- somewhere after
having the airfilters on empty crew's quarters analyzed for stray microbes. Then
the doctor went back to his routine.

===========

Vader scowled slightly. The Borgs' "collective" was literal rather than just
another name for a government. He had erred in refering to his own culture as a
"collective" when he talked to the Borg... The _former_ Borg. She used singular
pronouns to refer to herself.

Vader had encountered hive beings before. They didn't feel like this. Then again,
those hives had been natural collectives, not technologically created ones.

There was no early history of the Borg available on the ship's database, only
the chronicles of Federation encounters. Perhaps Seven had more information.

The earliest mentions of the Borg also mentioned a being named Q. This Q was
attributed with unlikely powers -- not even the Emperor could propel a ship
thousands of light years in an instant, with a mere thought.

Vader ah'd. That explained some of the unspoken remarks directed at him -- they
were afraid he was one of these Q (the records were vague on how many there were
of them). Idiots! If he were that powerful, their cell would have held him long
enough to stride through the force field, if he bothered to walk instead of just
blinking to another location. And why would Q simulate physical damage to himself?

Another location. Vader sighed, a little melancholy. Maybe Q could return him
to his home. But did Vader want to know the price Q would put on that service?
No. Some things were too dearly bought. If staying with these Federation people
for the rest of his life kept Q from interfering with the lives of Luke and Leia,
it was an easy choice.

Unless Q could be controlled... Tuvok had powers that overlapped Jedi skills.
Vader hadn't tested his screens, or resistance to control. Q was, obviously,
untested as well. And would remain so, if Vader had a say in the matter.

===========

"Who was that man who was talking to you in the dining hall, Seven?"

Seven looked down at her questioner, Naomi Wildman. "Anakin Skywalker."

Naomi waited. Eventually, Seven continued, "His ship exploded after a trip through
the wormhole we encountered recently. He has spent most of the intervening time
in sickbay."

Naomi was too used to different species to find mere appearance remarkable.
"What did he mean when he talked about 'his collective'? Is he a Borg, too?"

"He is not a member of the Borg collective. Nor do I believe he has been in the
past. His usage of the word collective was an inaccuracy in the vocabulary
supplied by the universal translator."

Naomi paused. Then, tenatively, "What did he want?"

"He asked about my Borg implants. I understand that he also has cybernetic
implants, much more primitive."

Naomi thought that over. "Maybe he wants to upgrade his technology."

"Perhaps. Although the doctor is researching removing them entirely as Skywalker's
health improves."

"Why can't the doctor do that for you? Don't you want to give your implants up?"

Seven turned and looked down at the little girl. "The Borg implants have proved
difficult to remove without damaging me. Perhaps Skywalker will have more luck
with his.

"Now. What is the answer to the fifth problem?"

Naomi turned back to her lesson.

===========

Janeway studied the doctor's report. Ah. Skywalker had been startled and overturned
a drink this morning, reason enough to learn how to use the housekeeping utility.
If the doctor visited _her_ unexpectedly...

She activated the holographic sensei. He was a limited personality for social
purposes, but could discuss his students with ease. "Tell me about your new
student, sensei."

The sensei bowed, which Janeway returned, even though she remained seated. "The
pupil Anakin is well-trained in a form of kendo with certain unusual
characteristics. The chief of these is his lack of preference for edge over
flat of the blade in attacking. This would indicate that he is accustomed to
an impact weapon like a bo-ken rather than a cutting one like a katana, except
that his follow-through is that of a cut."

"I've seen combat with flameswords -- that would produce a non-preference like
the one you describe."

The sensei bowed again -- a sign that he was going to contradict a superior.
"He would not be able to parry with such a flamesword, and he shows great skill
in defending himself -- again, with no preference of edge or flat."

"Do you know of _any_ weapon that would fit the characteristics you've observed?"

"I have not."

"Thank you. Is there anything else I should know?" Such a question was a stretch
for this kind of instructor, but once in a while, Janeway got some surprisingly
useful answers.

This particular hologram was programmed to read body language from a wide range
of species -- essential when waiting for an attack. "He spent significant amounts
of time studying the uniforms of the other students and myself, as if he found
them almost familiar. And his glance went first, in each case, to the belt. But
he knew nothing of the ranking system of white, brown, or black belt."

"I see. Thank you. You may go."

The hologram bowed and disappeared.

==================

Paris grumbled. B'Lanna was mad enough about his spending time with Skywalker --
now the captain wanted him to do a technology breakdown of Skywalker's obsolete
life-suit. And especially to look for weapons.

Some of the components were obvious -- air supply, voder/vocoder, some medical
readouts. Half the interesting bits were too damaged to analyze -- then again,
if they had been intact, they wouldn't have been so interesting.

Ah. Paris found something the captain had specifically asked about. He commed
Janeway. "Captain, you were right. There's some kind of fixture at the waist,
like a hanger for a tool."

The captain's voice from the comm, "Is it fairly easy to break-away? As if it
would support a weapon for quick access?"

"It might be -- hard to tell, it's one of the scorched areas."

"Thank you, Mister Paris. I'm eager to see your report."

Tom was sure he's thumbed the comm off when he muttered, "Why don't you just
ask _him_?"

The captain's voice, "An excellent idea, Lieutenant. I think I will."

This time, red-faced, Paris made sure the comm was disconnected -- and even then
he didn't mutter for an hour.

================

Janeway laughed -- she had a good idea of how embarassed Tom was right now. Some
months back, she'd noticed that many of the comm circuits didn't cut out
instantly -- a situation too trivial to bother Engineering with. Now, she always
waited a moment listening before closing the comm on her own end. It was one way
to monitor the crew's morale, even if less than purely ethical.

"Janeway to Skywalker. We need to talk."

The answer was neutral, at least over the comm. "As you wish. I'm in my quarters,
unless you'd prefer to meet elsewhere."

"Stay where you are."

=================

Before she left her ready room, she reviewed Skywalker's dining habits, especially
what he drank. She sighed. No pattern at all, not yet -- he was still testing
possibilities. She noted a few beverages that he hadn't encountered yet.

================

The door chimed but didn't open. "Mister Skywalker?"

"One moment," came a deep voice over the comm. "You may enter." The door slid aside.

Janeway looked around -- no obvious reason for the delay -- perhaps Skywalker
hadn't been entirely dressed.

He was standing, and bowed slightly at her entrance -- one of the sensei's
mannerisms. "Captain."

She jerked her chin ever so slightly toward the replicator. "May I offer you a
drink, Mister Skywalker?"

"Certainly."

She walked over to the replicator. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot, two servings. Cream,
lemon, and sugar on the side." A small tray appeared, two steaming cups of liquid.
Janeway carried it over to the table. "I usually take my tea with sugar, but some
favor it with either cream or lemon as well -- not usually cream and sugar at
the same time, though." She seated herself and mixed sugar into her cup and sipped.

Skywalker sat across the table from her. He lifted the cup and sniffed it first,
then took a tiny taste. Slowly, because of the warmth, he sipped it, without
adding anything. "Interesting. So many of your drinks are sweet -- I had wondered
if your replicator was capable of other tastes."

Janeway smiled, "You asked Tom Paris for a sweet drink the first time, and he
told Neelix. You'll have to let them know your preferences otherwise."

Skywalker inclined his head. "I shall. Captain, I do not believe you are here to
discuss..." he carefully pronounced, "Tea, Earl Grey. Hot or cold."

She took another sip. "You're right, of course. I was talking to the sensei. Your
weapons expertise has him puzzled -- he can't place your style. What's your usual
weapon? Maybe we can replicate one for you -- you can teach the sensei the new
form."

"It's called a lightsaber." Skywalker detailed a weapon of energy that would cut
anything crossing the blade except another lightsaber or certain other shields.

"Sounds like a useful tool, in certain applications. We don't have anything like
that."

"I could..." then Skywalker stopped.

Softly, "You could do what, Anakin?"

Her use of his given name set off more alarms, instead of relaxing him like she
probably hoped. "Many years ago, I assembled one, under the supervision of my
instructor. I had the components there in front of me. I don't think I could
assemble one from your standard parts."

"Were they common in your culture?"

"No. I only know of two or three practioners. Of course, it's a wide galaxy."

"Was your lightsaber in your ship? We collected some of the debris -- almost
everything larger than a tea-cup. There wasn't much of it, though."

Vader reined in his sudden jolt of hope. "It would look like a rod, the size of
a double hand grip, with a glassy end."

"I'll have Tom look over the debris, see if anything like that was recovered."
She stood, walked over to the replicator. There were some barely-sweet tea
cookies in the replicator files, if she could remember what they were called...