Star Voyager - Part 11
By Iejasu and Miklinar
Even with the ventilator on full, the odor of scorched
duraplast clogged Tom's throat. The twisted pieces
hadn't yielded any "lightsaber", but there was an
energy hand-gun of an unknown design that might be
instructive. And what had to be a data-storage device.
Tom took the two prizes out of the cargo hold to an
engineering repair carrel. He hooked up a ventilation
hood and set it on "high" before he walked off to get
some coffee. When he returned, the odor was
considerably reduced.
"Computer. Analyze the fumes removed. Use the
housekeeping function to eliminate pockets of fumes
inside the objects." A silent transporter sparkle. Tom
left the ventilator on as he hooked up the weapon to
the instruments.
"Analyze output and power requirement." The computer
scanned the weapon, including the various settings on
the handle.
The calm voice started listing characteristics. Tom
snorted. "Stun and cut both, not very focused. More of
an explosion on the kill end. No disintegrate,
though."
***************************
Vader's sleep was still haunted with nightmares. They
weren't always the same ones, but this one was the
worse. This one always started in the Emperor's Throne
Room on the second Death Star.
The flow of these nightmares varied wildly, and their
events, as if a dozen different realities collided. In
the worst, he and his son killed each other, while the
ancient Emperor cackled insanely. More often, he
killed his son, or his son killed him. The lightsaber
slashes were different in each scenario. Often, pieces
flew, some flesh and bone, some mechanical, hands,
arms, even an occasional head or half-torso.
The closer to his true memories the dreams came, the
less nerve-twisting they were. The boy had been
trained, by some Jedi master who had successfully
hidden from the Emperor. It had to be Kenobi or Yoda
-- the style showed, the way the lightsaber made by an
armsmaster could be identified. Vader's heart ached to
see the flow, the grace of the youngster. Even knowing
that his obligation was to break the boy, if not
destroy him outright.
When he fought through the nightmare to a more normal
sleep, he would see the actual battle. Damage, yes --
he and his son had scraped all too close to each
other, and there were painful burns to prove it. But
when his strength failed him, there were no great
gaping holes, no missing limbs.
Then the Emperor moved. In the mind of Palpatine,
Vader sensed greed, more than anything. His master
wanted the young one, either as apprentice, or to sap
Luke's strength and bolster his own.
But the youngster resisted him. Resisted him! Fierce
pride filled Vader, that his son had that much
strength. The Emperor was not so pleased. He lashed
Luke with Force lightning bolt after lightning bolt.
Palpatine ignored the dark figure huddled on the
floor. And the boy cried out to Vader, pleading with
him...
Vader's lightsaber was across the room, where an
impact had thrown it during the earlier lightsaber
duel. Vader concentrated, feeling the strength leaving
him... then feeling a strength from outside him
helping -- outside, or deep inside. Suddenly, his
lightsaber was in his hand, already ignited. He
slashed toward the dark figure before him, forward and
upwards. He struck flesh, and bone...
The old man shrieked in rage and pain. He turned to
confront this unexpected assailant, but as he twisted,
his damaged flesh gave way and he fell -- over the
railing and down the long shaft that led to the power
core.
Flames and wind swept up from the abyss. The very
bones of the Death Star rumbled. Vader thumbed off the
lightsaber, reached to put it back on his belt...
collapsed.
Then he felt a younger, stronger pair of arms around
him. "We have to get away from here. The shield's down
-- the rebellion is going to blow this battle
station."
Vader dragged himself to his knees, felt the flow
again, this time knowing it was from his son. "Go,
Luke. There is no place for me with your people."
"If you don't leave, you'll die!"
Vader let his son half-support him to the hangar deck.
There were several shuttles prepped, of course -- but
was Luke able to fly any of them? Then Vader saw an
older vessel, one with controls similar to the
Millennium Falcon. "Luke. Take that ship." Vader
nodded toward a much closer ship. "I can fly this
one." He gasped, "If I can stay conscious. If not, at
least you'll be away. You'll be safe. Tell... Tell
your sister. I'm not your enemy, Luke. Not now that
_he's_ dead."
"Let me help you into the ship, at least."
Vader, looking over Luke's shoulder, saw troops
approaching, ready to detain and question this
stranger. "No. I can distract them from you -- if you
run now. Luke! If you die, _he_ will have won. For the
last of the Jedi will be dead."
Luke swore under his breath, but stubbornly got his
father to the ramp of an Imperial shuttle before he
ran to the other ship. Vader watched as Luke's ship
lifted and slipped out of the hangar, then dragged
himself into the shuttle and onto the pilot's station
chair. Direction was irrelevant, as long as he cleared
this battle station before it blew.
At that point, the dreams became confused and painful
again, but not with a million mixed pasts and futures.
Paris had told him about wormholes, and this had all
the earmarks of the memories of one.
Exiting the wormhole in his dreams slid Vader into a
deep, dreamless sleep. Here, his body and mind could
recover from the stress of the dreams, and even heal.
*****************
The chime of the door woke Vader -- he looked up,
feeling disoriented. "Yes?" He blinked several times
to force himself to wake up.
The door opened and Paris entered. Vader saw the young
man and rubbed his face, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Overslept?" Paris smiled. "Happens to all of us, now
and then. Tell you what -- I'll get us some breakfast
here -- it'll save us a few minutes getting to the
flyer."
Vader hauled himself out of the bed, nodding as he
headed to the refresher. When he came out, Paris had a
hearty breakfast of fried eggs, sausages, and toast on
the table, with large mugs of coffee. Next to one cup
was a small glass of liquid. "Your morning 'tonic',"
Tom grinned. "It showed up on the replicator platform
when you opened the 'fresher door to come out -- the
doc's sense of humor, I guess."
Vader nodded. The medicine next to his coffee was
better than reporting to the sickbay every morning for
a hypospray. "Thank you for the breakfast."
"And for lunch, I have a real treat for you."
Vader looked up from his breakfast, carefully not
frowning. "And what would that be?" He was still
uncertain of some of the younger man's ideas of fun.
"We're having a good Irish lunch in Fair Haven, and
maybe make some new friends."
Vader shook his head slowly, but finished his
breakfast, medicine and all. "What does 'Irish' taste
like?"
*********
Paris, for a change, was distracted. Usually the Delta
Flyer could catch his full attention, but not today.
Skywalker was busy in the pilot's chair, reaching
toward one control after the other, never quite
touching them. When Paris made no move to stop him --
or do any real work, Skywalker asked, "Something on
your mind?"
Paris grinned, and he saw Skywalker relax. The older
man wasn't _quite_ as hard to read as Tuvok, but...
"Yes, but it's a distraction, not a problem." Paris
took the second seat, next to the Admiral. "And if we
don't get some work done here, the Captain will
reassign me."
Vader considered. "And other potential 'nursemaids'
would not be quite so liberal, eh?"
Paris gave Skywalker half of a grin. "I'm not quite
that, but it would take anyone else assigned to
supervise you a while to get a measure of your skills
and lacks. That's a waste of your time and theirs."
Skywalker grinned back. "And I'm an interesting new
toy to you, right?"
Paris shrugged. "Hardly that. But today, we have to
replace the..."
The two men bent over a panel on the control board.
==============
"We have to dress like the natives."
The clothes offered were less alien than the star
fleet uniforms he saw every day on Voyager -- the
trousers and boots were almost homelike, even though
the shirt was of a different (but comfortable!) cut.
Paris handed him a small pouch. "Sullivan wants
shillings and pence for his food and drink -- we can't
just charge it against our replicator rations." The
assortment of coins in the pouch were unfamiliar, but
it looked and felt like money to the older man. Vader
nodded.
Skywalker and Paris entered the holodeck. The Admiral
looked surprised.
Before Vader was a planetscape -- open air, not a
confined room on a ship. In front of him was a
village, by the apparent tech, some short time before
the introduction of spaceflight. He took a deep
breath. There was salt in the air, and moisture -- was
there a sea nearby?
On a starship??
Vader's laughter rumbled, "Most impressive."
"Thank you. Welcome to Fair Haven."
A small man approached Tom with a pained look on his
face. "Aye, Tom, me boy. Could you spare a shilling?
Me wife, God bless her, has come down with a touch of
the fever, nothing serious, but the doctor..." Vader
looked startled at the mention of the EMH "...has a
brew which can ease her." Seamus's face grew doleful,
"I've not the coin to give the man."
Tom fished in his own pouch and produced a small
silver coin, which he pressed into the "native's"
hand. "Here you are, Seamus. And a wish of luck for
your wife as well."
"Thank you, Tommy-me-boy. She's a mighty fine woman,
mighty fine." Seamus, his coin put carefully away,
noticed Vader. He looked _up_. "And a good day to you,
sir, as well. Tommy, you've brought a friend to visit
us?"
Vader realized that this new acquaintance was another
hologram. One with more personality than the sensei,
and not as much authority -- or irritating
peculiarities - as the EMH. But Seamus seemed to
expect an answer, much like the sensei waited for
specific responses, either verbal or movement. Vader
ducked his head like Tom had done -- the polite
greeting, apparently. "A good day to you, Seamus."
"A new shipmate of Tommy's, are ye, now?"
The hologram had a great deal of fluidity in it
responses, especially for a mere entertainment. Seamus
held out his hand, and Vader took it, letting the
hologram guide him -- cultures varied widely as to
length and firmness of contact, and amount of
movement. "And your name is?"
"Skywalker. I'm Anakin Skywalker."
"Welcome to Fair Haven, Anakin." Seamus ducked his
head once more, then headed off toward the center of
town.
Vader watched him disappear into a small group of
people. He took a deep breath, then looked around,
including over his shoulder. As he expected, the
entrance was gone, hidden by the scenery.
"This is a recreation? Interaction with a group of
imaginary personalities?"
"It's a break from the routine of shipboard life,
without the hazards of an alien culture. And there are
amusements here... C'mon. We'll find some fun."
Paris went on toward the town, and Vader followed.
At the edge of the town was a cart filled with
flowers. There was a girl standing next to it, in the
costume of Fair Haven. Tom greeted her, "Good day to
you, Maggie O'Halloran!"
"And a good day to you, Tom Paris!"
Vader liked Maggie's vividly red hair. The way the
women wore their hair in this simulation was pleasing
to his eyes, their skirts looked familiar compared to
_Voyager_'s trouser-clad females.
Vader walked up to the flower cart and inspected its
contents. He pointed to an appealing little blossom.
"What kind of flowers are these, Miss Maggie?" he
inquired softly.
The woman laughed engagingly and gave him a bunch of
flowers. "These are daisies. Here, take some. Welcome
to Fair Haven!"
"Thank you." Vader looked at the bunch of daisies then
smelled their scent. "Very nice," he said, smiling.
Maggie looked over to the younger man. "So, Tommy, are
you going to introduce your friend?"
Paris grinned. Maybe the Admiral wasn't going to have
as many problems here as Tom feared. "A new shipmate
of mine -- name's Anakin Skywalker."
Vader took Maggie's hand and bowed over it. "Pleased
to meet you, Miss Halloran."
She laughed and blushed a bit. It had many years since
a young woman had laughed at him, at least in a
cordial way. Vader was beginning to like this place.
Paris tugged Skywalker a bit further along the road.
"I should have warned you. Maggie is spoken for --
she's engaged to be married to a pig farmer. And he's
a big man, with a temper..."
Skywalker had a strange gleam in his eye. "Bigger than
I am?"
Paris stalled out on, "Ah..."
"And as for temper..."
Paris could hear a tease in Skywalker's voice and
relaxed. "The kendo lessons aren't quite enough for
you, are they. You need a bit more of a fight."
Vader answered calmly, with a note of humor, "I'm not
going to start swinging at anyone. But if someone
takes offense at my attention to the young lady, I am
permitted to defend myself?"
"Don't do anything that will wreck the holodeck."
Skywalker nodded. "I was able to contain myself at the
dojo. This may stretch my tolerance a bit more, but
that's what Fair Haven is for, is it not? Stretching
unused social muscles?"
Paris nodded. "So it is. Carry on, Admiral."
Vader's voice mocked Paris a bit when he answered.
"Oh, I will, Mr. Paris." He walked back to the young
girl. "I believe my shipmate wanted to show me the
local inn but I would appreciate it if you would be
so kind to accompany me, Miss Halloran." The young
woman took his arm eagerly and they passed Tom walking
up to Sullivan's.
Her fingers against his arm were warm -- this
simulation was remarkably realistic when he could
ignore the total lack of Force-currents around the
"people." Was this how "normal" people saw the
universe? How limiting!
Tom caught up with them, and they entered the public
house together. Their host was a tall man for these
people. "A thousand welcomes, Tommy-boy, to you and
your shipmate." Vader noticed that Seamus had already
beaten them to the pub -- no doubt spending the coin
begged from Tom for his wife's ailment. Then again,
the wife was as much a hologram as the husband... As
the barkeeper. As the young woman on his arm. "And
what will you be having, this fine afternoon?"
Paris spoke up, "I promised my shipmate corned beef
and cabbage. You'll not make me go back on my word,
Michael?"
Michael Sullivan laughed, "Not when 'twas I who told
you it would be on the hearth for today. Maggie? The
same for you?" The young woman nodded, almost shyly.
Tom showed them to a table. Sullivan brought over
three pints of beer, setting them on the table in
front of them. Vader pulled the chair away from the
table for Maggie, and then took his own seat.
Tom saw Harry Kim across the room, trying urgently to
get his attention. "Excuse me. Have to have a word
with a friend."
Kim dragged Paris's head down. In a fierce whisper, he
said, "Are you out of your mind? Did you warn
Skywalker about Maggie's fiance'?"
Paris watched the Admiral talking to the woman, making
her smile. Charming man, when it suited him to be. "He
knows. I think he's hoping for a confrontation. A
little action."
The pub door slammed open. In the opening stood a man
nearly Skywalker's size. "Speaking of which..."
Vader studied the man that walked up to his table.
Maggie looked a little frightened, a little excited.
Being fought over by two men meant major status for
her, apparently.
The tall villager addressed him. "And who might you
be? A stranger, or you'd know that I've spoken for
Maggie."
Vader remained calm, sipping on his beer. "Tom Paris
told me that Maggie had a betrothed. I expected him to
be a better sort than you." Vader thought to himself,
"Let's see how long it takes for him to swing..."
The angered fiance' lifted his hand. Vader came to his
feet, ready. But Michael Sullivan stepped in.
"Gentlemen. I think this can be settled with a bit of
arm wrestling."
Vader was obviously expected to know what this was, so
he stalled. "Arm wrestling? Every..." he almost said
"planet", but caught himself, "...port has its own
version of that. Show me how it's done here."
The barkeeper walked both men to another table,
gesturing to Vader that he was to sit down. Sullivan
explained the rules of the game.
While Sullivan explained, the table gathered
spectators. Even the EMH was present. Vader could feel
the non-hologram spectators and calculated that there
were at least a dozen real crew members in the room.
The pig farmer took off his jacket and Vader realized
that this was part of the show. Vader rose and removed
his own jacket, putting it methodically on the back of
the chair.
Vader took a deep breath. The Force would be useless
in this contest -- he had promised not to damage the
holoemitters, after all. So it would be a test of his
real physical condition. He smiled faintly.
The smile on the face of the stranger enraged the pig
farmer even more. "So, mister 'better sort'. You think
you can take me?"
Vader grinned widely. "I have been called many things
in my day. That's a new one."
The pig farmer slammed his bulk into the chair
opposite Vader and placed his arm. "We'll see who's
better at _this_, shipman."
Vader grasped the farmer's hand and braced his elbow.
Sullivan said, "Begin!"
As he strained against the other man's arm, Vader
could hear the spectators placing bets, for and
against him. Paris was betting on him... As a tease,
Vader played a little, letting the farmer move the
joined arms toward victory. Vader saw beads of sweat
break out on Tom's forehead.
Vader whispered, but the sound went directly to
Paris's ears. "What are the odds?"
Paris couldn't identify the speaker, but answered,
"Four to one, and steady."
"Good enough."
Tom turned to ask if the whisperer wanted to place a
bet, but...
Vader growled and put real strength into his push. The
position of the arms moved. Maggie's betrothed turned
pale, then red, and was purpling as he struggled
against the vise-like grip but within seconds his hand
was slammed onto the desk.
Enraged by Vader's easy victory after pretending to
nearly lose, the farmer threw a roundhouse swing at
his opponent. Vader ducked a little, and came back up
overturning the table onto the farmer's feet.
That triggered an authentic Irish barroom brawl. Beer
mugs flew, chairs broke, tables were dumped...
In mid-brawl, for a long moment there was calm. Paris
found himself next to Skywalker. Skywalker asked, "Is
this the kind of 'fun' you had in mind?"
Tom ducked a beer mug. "Something like this. Having a
good fight?"
Vader grinned, "Good enough. Not quite as strenuous as
the time I mixed it up with a wookiee, but... Your pig
harvester will do, for a start."
Vader was interrupted by having to duck to escape a
flying chair. He heard Paris protest, "Pig _farmer_!
Pigs are animals!"
=================
Eventually, Sullivan separated the combatants. There
were enough tables intact for Paris and his party --
Maggie was hovering over the injured farmer, nursing
him -- and the barkeeper brought over fresh pints and
platters piled high with pale green leaves, white
tubers, and pink meat. Then he looked around the bar
and sighed.
"Aye, but 'twill be a while before I have the old
place back in proper order."
Vader thought, and brought out the money pouch that
Tom had given him. There was the glint of gold among
the silver and copper. Vader took the gold coin and
flipped it into the air, in the barkeeper's direction.
"That should take care of the damages."
Sullivan ducked his head deeply. "Why, thank you,
m'lud." For surely only nobility could be carrying
such coin around, and give it so freely.
The next round was whiskey, not beer, and fine white
bread to go with the corned beef, not coarse peasant
fare.
Tom looked over at Vader. "Well. _You_'ve made an
impression."
Vader shrugged. The phrase "m'lud" -- my lord -- had
sent a strange shiver through him. Perhaps some day
these people would discover his other identity. But he
hoped to put that off for a while. "You gave me the
coins, but didn't bother to tell me their relative
value. It's on your head."
"Not that it got your young lady's attention."
Vader looked over at her -- where she had been. The
pig farmer and his woman were gone. "She's a hologram.
If one of them could interest me, I would have her
programmed to not get distracted."
Tom shook his head, "Women aren't robots... even
holodeck ones." Then he leaned over to speak out of
Sullivan's hearing, "Although our host had a wife
before the captain deleted her."
Skywalker lifted an eyebrow -- he must have been
studying Tuvok's expressions. Then he took a sip of
whiskey.
===============
A walk around the town cleared the whiskey fumes from
Vader's head. Apparently, real alcohol was available
in small quantities on the holodecks. Unless...
"Mister Paris, what happens to holodeck food when you
leave the holodeck?"
Paris grinned. "Or whiskey? In this case, it stays
with you. When I programmed the town, I tied in the
replicator. So the food and drink is as real as in the
dining hall. Otherwise... if you stay in a holodeck
for a while, any food that's digested stays with you.
The rest disappears."
"Fascinating." A breeze lifted some leaves on the
ground. "I smell salt water. Is there actually an
ocean? Or do we run into a wall?"
"The holodeck is fairly flexible -- I've programmed a
bay in, but not a full ocean. Do you like sailing?"
"On water? I've never tried it." Almost soundlessly,
"There's a lot I've never tried." Skywalker turned his
face toward the "sea."
Paris looked up at the sky, at the hint of sunset on
what was intended to be the western horizon.
"Sullivan's putting on a light supper, and then
there's to be some poetry and stories. I hear you're
interested in the Sidhe?"
At the word, Skywalker turned to look at him. "I...
was curious. There were some coincidences. If the
legends are about my people, I might be from the Alpha
Quadrant like you are -- although it might be in the
far-distant past."
Paris laughed. "Better that than in the far future.
We've already had too many run-ins with the Time
Patrol."
===========
The crowd was of a different mood than in the
afternoon. The workingmen were gone, to sleep for
tomorrow's labors. The drinkers now were the
shopkeepers, the young woman who taught the school,
and more members of the Voyager crew than were there
earlier.
The light supper was newly-baked bread, fresh cheese,
and some sausages sliced thin and served chilled with
the rest.
Vader took a seat and looked around. The bar showed no
sign of a brawl -- either the gold paid for speedy
repairs, or Tom had made some judicious adjustments at
the control console.
The stories and poems began. Michael Sullivan began
with a poem from a book, then a Katie O'Clare sang a
journey-song. Vader realized halfway through that it
was Captain Janeway in the native dress. The murmur of
voices was soothing, and the occasional laughter
relaxed him as well.
Then an almost familiar figure made its way to the
front of the group. It was the Doctor from the
starship, dressed in a robe almost as foreign to these
people as a Star Fleet uniform would have been. The
villagers nodded to him, murmuring, "Father," and
making way for him.
Paris leaned over and whispered toward Vader, "The doc
has been studying Irish folk tales. This should be
amusing."
But instead of a poem, the doctor started to sing. Not
the operatic efforts that as much exasperated his
listeners as entertained them, but a folk song. A song
about a war between two different groups of elves.
Good elves against evil elves, with all the weapons of
magic. For a moment, Vader was reminded of the wars of
the Sith, that had led to the iron-bound law of two
Sith at a time only, no more, no less.
And of the millennium-long tradition that would die
with him, unless he chose to take an apprentice... he
was too tired to train someone from the very
beginning. And he wasn't sure he wanted to follow the
Dark Side any longer -- his anger was failing him. He
had mocked the Jedi, saying that they were old men,
with no passion in them, but now...
The song ended, with massive casualties on both sides.
Vader didn't remember enough of it to know who had
won, but like most real wars, both sides were in bad
shape afterwards.
Janeway, when she heard the doctor sing the word
Sidhe, shot a glance over at Skywalker. He was
listening, with more attention than he had given to
some of the lighter offerings, then his attention
drifted. She wondered... _were_ the Sidhe -- the Sith
in Scottish tales -- his people? The magical combat
could certainly be a telling of incidents like his
rampage in sick-bay...
"Katie?" came Michael's voice. "You had one last poem
for us?"
She nodded. The doctor went back to his place among
the villagers, and _Voyager's_ handsome captain took a
place by the fireplace. "This is called 'The Grief of
a Girl's Heart.'" She took a breath and started...
"O Donall og, if you go across the sea, bring myself
with you..."
Vader's attention drifted. He watched the flames in
the fireplace -- no doubt artificial, but soothing,
giving light, heat, and even some small sound to the
gathering.
The captain's voice intruded on his thoughts. "O,
ochone, and it's not with hunger or with wanting food,
or drink, or sleep, that I am growing thin, and my
life is shortened; but it is the love of a young man
has withered me away."
What? What was this?
Still the female voice, "My heart is as black as the
blackness of the sloe, or as the black coal that is on
the smith's forge; or as the sole of a shoe left in
white halls; it was you put that darkness over my
life."
He remembered. He remembered causing that kind of
grief to -- a half-quirked grin, well, she was older
than him -- to a beautiful girl. To hear it voiced in
the idiom of these people...
Katie had a glitter on her cheek, as if a tear had
touched there for an instant. "You have taken the east
from me; you have taken the west from me; you have
taken what is before me and what is behind me; you
have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!"
Janeway closed the book and sat silent. Vader pushed
back from the table and made his way, heedless of
those between him and the door, to fresh air and the
darkness of night.
Janeway noticed, of course, but was in no position to
follow him. Paris excused himself and slid through
those gathered to the pub's door. He opened it and
closed it quietly behind him.
Paris found Skywalker sitting at the edge of town,
looking up at the stars. There was enough ambient
light for Paris to see the glimmer of moisture on the
older man's cheek.
Paris took a seat next to Skywalker. "All this
travelling through space -- and we still spend time
looking at the scenery."
Paris could see Skywalker's head non, slowly. "The
stars... Is this the view from your homeworld, son?"
"If the library computer's doing its job, yes. I told
it to put in the right sky for Ireland of the early
1900s." Paris looked around, "The planets won't be in
the right places for Earth, right now, and of course,
there are space stations in orbit now... The stars are
the same." Paris laughed, "No near-by novas."
Skywalker didn't answer. Tom moved to where he could
see his face better. "What happened in there? You
moved awfully fast. Something hit a nerve?"
Vader sighed. "I'd say it was before you were born,
but since you might be my great-grandfather, a
thousand times removed --"
Paris laughed, "B'Lanna's genes would certainly
account for your temper. Grandson. Heh."
Vader continued, "-- when I was younger than you are
now, I fell in love. We got married against a lot of
advice. I got into some trouble."
Paris had the feeling this was like saying that Tom
had had a "little problem" at Starfleet Academy. "You
left her behind."
"A ... friend ... of ours spirited her away, hid her
from me, hid our children." A gentle note in
Skywalker's voice. "I met them, once they were grown.
I can see my wife's face in my daughter's. And my son
has some of my abilities... but not my temper,
fortunately."
"You want to get back to them."
Vader shook his head. "No. They're better off without
me, without my shadow over them. Tom, your father is
famous."
"Well, he's an admiral, yes. Doesn't make him famous
to the average Federation citizen, but mention Admiral
Paris in the Fleet, and, yeah."
"Would you have been happier if you hadn't known? If
you had grown up and met him as an adult?"
Paris took a long time to answer. "Happier? Maybe --
he was always pushing me to bring up my grades, to
accomplish more. But then, maybe a lot of what I am is
a result of pushing back at him. If someone else had
raised me, I wouldn't be _me_."
Tom sighed, "What we are... it's everything that ever
happened to us, plus whatever our genes handed us.
Some of us make very bad choices." And much more
quietly, "And some of us get a second chance. Ask
Seven about that. Or Chakotay."
Vader added, in his mind, "Or you, Tom. And maybe even
me."
=============
Commander Chakotay was stretched out on his bed,
reading a book. He'd replicated the physical object as
a special treat for himself -- a bound book reminded
him of home, a reminder that was a hope now, not a
sorrow, since _Voyager_ had received messages from the
Alpha Quadrant.
The author had just introduced a stranger who had
moved into a small town, with forebodings of
disaster... forebodings that echoed Chakotay's own
unease. There was a stranger on board _Voyager_,
someone who had enchanted Tom Paris and took up an
inordinate amount of Janeway's attention... "I don't
like it," Chakotay said to the empty room. "I keep
thinking that we've brought a time bomb aboard."
"You should trust your feelings, young man!"
Chakotay leapt to his feet, looking around... His eyes
widened at the glowing form standing next to the
window. Chakotay could see _through_ him. "What are
you?" The stranger felt more of the spirit-world, than
of any of the energy-based life-forms _Voyager_ had
encountered. "Are you a ghost?"
"'Ghost' is one of your terms for what I am. 'Spirit
guide' is perhaps closer." The form pushed back a
ghostly hood. Underneath, the kindly elder smiled
amicably. "The tales of your fathers are not too alien
to what I am."
Chakotay nodded, as much a token of respect as of
agreement. "I must have a pressing need for a guide,
if you're appearing to me here and now, instead of
when I'm in meditation."
The ghost's face grew somber. "I am here to warn you
about the man you referred to as a 'time bomb.' Your
feelings about him are quite accurate. He is a grave
danger to your ship and crew, perhaps even to your
Federation."
"This 'Anakin Skywalker' that we rescued?"
The spirit's eyes widened, "He gave you that name? I
am surprised. He has hidden his true identity for many
years."
Chakotay sat down. Unsure if he should offer the new
arrival a seat, he gestured towards a chair opposite
him. The ghost nodded and sat. The glow around him
kept Chakotay from seeing whether the spirit-being was
hovering, or was actually using the surface.
"So 'Skywalker' is a false name?"
"No. It is his real name, one he abandoned before he
began his course of murder and annihilation."
Chakotay studied his visitor. "And you are?"
"I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. In life, I was a Jedi knight."
Apparently Chakotay didn't react satisfactorily to the
name, or to the term "Jedi." "You have already
encountered Skywalker's powers. My order taught the
proper usage of those abilities. Skywalker was a
student of mine, until he decided I was holding him
back. In his haste, Skywalker learned how to tap
darker forces, and they consumed him. When he
renounced his old allegiances, he chose to call
himself Darth Vader."
Chakotay nodded.
Kenobi continued, "The man you rescued is more
dangerous than you can possibly imagine. He is a Dark
Lord of the Sith, a servant of evil." Kenobi went on
and on about "Jedi Knights", "the Force", and "the
Empire". And someone named Darth Vader who had killed
countless thousands..
"And you have returned to revenge your own death at
his hand?"
The ghost paused. Then, "I am here to warn you about
this great evil you are permitting to walk freely
among your crew."
Chakotay was still skeptical. Yes, he had a bad
feeling about this "Skywalker", but he wasn't inclined
to accept unsupported information even from a "spirit
guide." If Kenobi _was_ an authentic ghost. A grin
quirked across Chakotay's lips as he remembered an old
quote about "a bit of undigested gruel."
"He gave us a bit of trouble when he arrived, but he
was delirious from the pain he was in. Since then,
he's behaved himself."
Kenobi gave Chakotay a sharp look. "If he chooses to
act, you will have no time to rescue yourselves. He
can kill with a mere gesture of his hand."
Chakotay sighed. "I will give the Captain your
message. And we will keep an eye on Mister Skywalker."
The old man shook his head in obvious distress. "I
fear you are already lost. The more his body heals,
the more dangerous he is. Kill him immediately, before
he kills all of you!" The ghost vanished as quickly as
he had appeared, leaving behind a thoughtful Chakotay.
****************
Chakotay finished his story while Captain Janeway
sipped her coffee. "Let me be sure I've got this
straight. Something that might be a ghost, calling
himself 'Obi-Wan Kenobi', appeared in your room,
warned you about our convalescent, and then vanished."
"Yes, Captain." Well, at least she was _listening_.
"My people have numerous tales of ghostly visitors,
and this Kenobi has many of the right markers. And he
seemed genuinely concerned about _Voyager's_ safety."
Janeway nodded and jotted down some notes -- Chakotay
hadn't stopped long enough to prepare a formal report
for her on the incident.
"According to this Kenobi, Skywalker -- Darth Vader --
is a ruthless murderer. How would we go about proving
-- or disproving! -- this accusation?"
"One of the pieces salvaged from Skywalker's ship was
a data storage unit. I asked Seven to retrieve
whatever she could from the crytal when Tom found it,
but I didn't put a high priority on the job. It looks
like we might have some urgency now. I don't feel any
better than you do about suspecting Skywalker on no
more evidence than a possible hallucination's word."
Janeway sipped her coffee, stopped mid-sip. "Kenobi
_did_ mention one thing we can test. Have the doctor
mention the name 'Darth Vader' to Mister Skywalker,
while he's being monitored for pulse and
blood-pressure. If he's hiding something, there should
be a reaction."
Chakotay shook his head. "The computer search
Skywalker performed had that name, as well as Kenobi's
and a good number of others. Vader could even be the
enemy Skywalker was fleeing -- that would cause a
stress test to spike, too. That data crystal might
well be our only real evidence, something independent
of Skywalker's word -- or Kenobi's."
Janeway nodded. "Computer. Location of Seven of Nine."
The computer's voice, "Seven of Nine is in her
regeneration chamber."
"Comm off." Janeway shook her head. "She's been having
problems interfacing with her cubical lately. I don't
think we need to drag her out for an incomplete
report."
Chakotay nodded. "Especially if I were only dreaming
myself."
**********
By Iejasu and Miklinar
Even with the ventilator on full, the odor of scorched
duraplast clogged Tom's throat. The twisted pieces
hadn't yielded any "lightsaber", but there was an
energy hand-gun of an unknown design that might be
instructive. And what had to be a data-storage device.
Tom took the two prizes out of the cargo hold to an
engineering repair carrel. He hooked up a ventilation
hood and set it on "high" before he walked off to get
some coffee. When he returned, the odor was
considerably reduced.
"Computer. Analyze the fumes removed. Use the
housekeeping function to eliminate pockets of fumes
inside the objects." A silent transporter sparkle. Tom
left the ventilator on as he hooked up the weapon to
the instruments.
"Analyze output and power requirement." The computer
scanned the weapon, including the various settings on
the handle.
The calm voice started listing characteristics. Tom
snorted. "Stun and cut both, not very focused. More of
an explosion on the kill end. No disintegrate,
though."
***************************
Vader's sleep was still haunted with nightmares. They
weren't always the same ones, but this one was the
worse. This one always started in the Emperor's Throne
Room on the second Death Star.
The flow of these nightmares varied wildly, and their
events, as if a dozen different realities collided. In
the worst, he and his son killed each other, while the
ancient Emperor cackled insanely. More often, he
killed his son, or his son killed him. The lightsaber
slashes were different in each scenario. Often, pieces
flew, some flesh and bone, some mechanical, hands,
arms, even an occasional head or half-torso.
The closer to his true memories the dreams came, the
less nerve-twisting they were. The boy had been
trained, by some Jedi master who had successfully
hidden from the Emperor. It had to be Kenobi or Yoda
-- the style showed, the way the lightsaber made by an
armsmaster could be identified. Vader's heart ached to
see the flow, the grace of the youngster. Even knowing
that his obligation was to break the boy, if not
destroy him outright.
When he fought through the nightmare to a more normal
sleep, he would see the actual battle. Damage, yes --
he and his son had scraped all too close to each
other, and there were painful burns to prove it. But
when his strength failed him, there were no great
gaping holes, no missing limbs.
Then the Emperor moved. In the mind of Palpatine,
Vader sensed greed, more than anything. His master
wanted the young one, either as apprentice, or to sap
Luke's strength and bolster his own.
But the youngster resisted him. Resisted him! Fierce
pride filled Vader, that his son had that much
strength. The Emperor was not so pleased. He lashed
Luke with Force lightning bolt after lightning bolt.
Palpatine ignored the dark figure huddled on the
floor. And the boy cried out to Vader, pleading with
him...
Vader's lightsaber was across the room, where an
impact had thrown it during the earlier lightsaber
duel. Vader concentrated, feeling the strength leaving
him... then feeling a strength from outside him
helping -- outside, or deep inside. Suddenly, his
lightsaber was in his hand, already ignited. He
slashed toward the dark figure before him, forward and
upwards. He struck flesh, and bone...
The old man shrieked in rage and pain. He turned to
confront this unexpected assailant, but as he twisted,
his damaged flesh gave way and he fell -- over the
railing and down the long shaft that led to the power
core.
Flames and wind swept up from the abyss. The very
bones of the Death Star rumbled. Vader thumbed off the
lightsaber, reached to put it back on his belt...
collapsed.
Then he felt a younger, stronger pair of arms around
him. "We have to get away from here. The shield's down
-- the rebellion is going to blow this battle
station."
Vader dragged himself to his knees, felt the flow
again, this time knowing it was from his son. "Go,
Luke. There is no place for me with your people."
"If you don't leave, you'll die!"
Vader let his son half-support him to the hangar deck.
There were several shuttles prepped, of course -- but
was Luke able to fly any of them? Then Vader saw an
older vessel, one with controls similar to the
Millennium Falcon. "Luke. Take that ship." Vader
nodded toward a much closer ship. "I can fly this
one." He gasped, "If I can stay conscious. If not, at
least you'll be away. You'll be safe. Tell... Tell
your sister. I'm not your enemy, Luke. Not now that
_he's_ dead."
"Let me help you into the ship, at least."
Vader, looking over Luke's shoulder, saw troops
approaching, ready to detain and question this
stranger. "No. I can distract them from you -- if you
run now. Luke! If you die, _he_ will have won. For the
last of the Jedi will be dead."
Luke swore under his breath, but stubbornly got his
father to the ramp of an Imperial shuttle before he
ran to the other ship. Vader watched as Luke's ship
lifted and slipped out of the hangar, then dragged
himself into the shuttle and onto the pilot's station
chair. Direction was irrelevant, as long as he cleared
this battle station before it blew.
At that point, the dreams became confused and painful
again, but not with a million mixed pasts and futures.
Paris had told him about wormholes, and this had all
the earmarks of the memories of one.
Exiting the wormhole in his dreams slid Vader into a
deep, dreamless sleep. Here, his body and mind could
recover from the stress of the dreams, and even heal.
*****************
The chime of the door woke Vader -- he looked up,
feeling disoriented. "Yes?" He blinked several times
to force himself to wake up.
The door opened and Paris entered. Vader saw the young
man and rubbed his face, feeling a little embarrassed.
"Overslept?" Paris smiled. "Happens to all of us, now
and then. Tell you what -- I'll get us some breakfast
here -- it'll save us a few minutes getting to the
flyer."
Vader hauled himself out of the bed, nodding as he
headed to the refresher. When he came out, Paris had a
hearty breakfast of fried eggs, sausages, and toast on
the table, with large mugs of coffee. Next to one cup
was a small glass of liquid. "Your morning 'tonic',"
Tom grinned. "It showed up on the replicator platform
when you opened the 'fresher door to come out -- the
doc's sense of humor, I guess."
Vader nodded. The medicine next to his coffee was
better than reporting to the sickbay every morning for
a hypospray. "Thank you for the breakfast."
"And for lunch, I have a real treat for you."
Vader looked up from his breakfast, carefully not
frowning. "And what would that be?" He was still
uncertain of some of the younger man's ideas of fun.
"We're having a good Irish lunch in Fair Haven, and
maybe make some new friends."
Vader shook his head slowly, but finished his
breakfast, medicine and all. "What does 'Irish' taste
like?"
*********
Paris, for a change, was distracted. Usually the Delta
Flyer could catch his full attention, but not today.
Skywalker was busy in the pilot's chair, reaching
toward one control after the other, never quite
touching them. When Paris made no move to stop him --
or do any real work, Skywalker asked, "Something on
your mind?"
Paris grinned, and he saw Skywalker relax. The older
man wasn't _quite_ as hard to read as Tuvok, but...
"Yes, but it's a distraction, not a problem." Paris
took the second seat, next to the Admiral. "And if we
don't get some work done here, the Captain will
reassign me."
Vader considered. "And other potential 'nursemaids'
would not be quite so liberal, eh?"
Paris gave Skywalker half of a grin. "I'm not quite
that, but it would take anyone else assigned to
supervise you a while to get a measure of your skills
and lacks. That's a waste of your time and theirs."
Skywalker grinned back. "And I'm an interesting new
toy to you, right?"
Paris shrugged. "Hardly that. But today, we have to
replace the..."
The two men bent over a panel on the control board.
==============
"We have to dress like the natives."
The clothes offered were less alien than the star
fleet uniforms he saw every day on Voyager -- the
trousers and boots were almost homelike, even though
the shirt was of a different (but comfortable!) cut.
Paris handed him a small pouch. "Sullivan wants
shillings and pence for his food and drink -- we can't
just charge it against our replicator rations." The
assortment of coins in the pouch were unfamiliar, but
it looked and felt like money to the older man. Vader
nodded.
Skywalker and Paris entered the holodeck. The Admiral
looked surprised.
Before Vader was a planetscape -- open air, not a
confined room on a ship. In front of him was a
village, by the apparent tech, some short time before
the introduction of spaceflight. He took a deep
breath. There was salt in the air, and moisture -- was
there a sea nearby?
On a starship??
Vader's laughter rumbled, "Most impressive."
"Thank you. Welcome to Fair Haven."
A small man approached Tom with a pained look on his
face. "Aye, Tom, me boy. Could you spare a shilling?
Me wife, God bless her, has come down with a touch of
the fever, nothing serious, but the doctor..." Vader
looked startled at the mention of the EMH "...has a
brew which can ease her." Seamus's face grew doleful,
"I've not the coin to give the man."
Tom fished in his own pouch and produced a small
silver coin, which he pressed into the "native's"
hand. "Here you are, Seamus. And a wish of luck for
your wife as well."
"Thank you, Tommy-me-boy. She's a mighty fine woman,
mighty fine." Seamus, his coin put carefully away,
noticed Vader. He looked _up_. "And a good day to you,
sir, as well. Tommy, you've brought a friend to visit
us?"
Vader realized that this new acquaintance was another
hologram. One with more personality than the sensei,
and not as much authority -- or irritating
peculiarities - as the EMH. But Seamus seemed to
expect an answer, much like the sensei waited for
specific responses, either verbal or movement. Vader
ducked his head like Tom had done -- the polite
greeting, apparently. "A good day to you, Seamus."
"A new shipmate of Tommy's, are ye, now?"
The hologram had a great deal of fluidity in it
responses, especially for a mere entertainment. Seamus
held out his hand, and Vader took it, letting the
hologram guide him -- cultures varied widely as to
length and firmness of contact, and amount of
movement. "And your name is?"
"Skywalker. I'm Anakin Skywalker."
"Welcome to Fair Haven, Anakin." Seamus ducked his
head once more, then headed off toward the center of
town.
Vader watched him disappear into a small group of
people. He took a deep breath, then looked around,
including over his shoulder. As he expected, the
entrance was gone, hidden by the scenery.
"This is a recreation? Interaction with a group of
imaginary personalities?"
"It's a break from the routine of shipboard life,
without the hazards of an alien culture. And there are
amusements here... C'mon. We'll find some fun."
Paris went on toward the town, and Vader followed.
At the edge of the town was a cart filled with
flowers. There was a girl standing next to it, in the
costume of Fair Haven. Tom greeted her, "Good day to
you, Maggie O'Halloran!"
"And a good day to you, Tom Paris!"
Vader liked Maggie's vividly red hair. The way the
women wore their hair in this simulation was pleasing
to his eyes, their skirts looked familiar compared to
_Voyager_'s trouser-clad females.
Vader walked up to the flower cart and inspected its
contents. He pointed to an appealing little blossom.
"What kind of flowers are these, Miss Maggie?" he
inquired softly.
The woman laughed engagingly and gave him a bunch of
flowers. "These are daisies. Here, take some. Welcome
to Fair Haven!"
"Thank you." Vader looked at the bunch of daisies then
smelled their scent. "Very nice," he said, smiling.
Maggie looked over to the younger man. "So, Tommy, are
you going to introduce your friend?"
Paris grinned. Maybe the Admiral wasn't going to have
as many problems here as Tom feared. "A new shipmate
of mine -- name's Anakin Skywalker."
Vader took Maggie's hand and bowed over it. "Pleased
to meet you, Miss Halloran."
She laughed and blushed a bit. It had many years since
a young woman had laughed at him, at least in a
cordial way. Vader was beginning to like this place.
Paris tugged Skywalker a bit further along the road.
"I should have warned you. Maggie is spoken for --
she's engaged to be married to a pig farmer. And he's
a big man, with a temper..."
Skywalker had a strange gleam in his eye. "Bigger than
I am?"
Paris stalled out on, "Ah..."
"And as for temper..."
Paris could hear a tease in Skywalker's voice and
relaxed. "The kendo lessons aren't quite enough for
you, are they. You need a bit more of a fight."
Vader answered calmly, with a note of humor, "I'm not
going to start swinging at anyone. But if someone
takes offense at my attention to the young lady, I am
permitted to defend myself?"
"Don't do anything that will wreck the holodeck."
Skywalker nodded. "I was able to contain myself at the
dojo. This may stretch my tolerance a bit more, but
that's what Fair Haven is for, is it not? Stretching
unused social muscles?"
Paris nodded. "So it is. Carry on, Admiral."
Vader's voice mocked Paris a bit when he answered.
"Oh, I will, Mr. Paris." He walked back to the young
girl. "I believe my shipmate wanted to show me the
local inn but I would appreciate it if you would be
so kind to accompany me, Miss Halloran." The young
woman took his arm eagerly and they passed Tom walking
up to Sullivan's.
Her fingers against his arm were warm -- this
simulation was remarkably realistic when he could
ignore the total lack of Force-currents around the
"people." Was this how "normal" people saw the
universe? How limiting!
Tom caught up with them, and they entered the public
house together. Their host was a tall man for these
people. "A thousand welcomes, Tommy-boy, to you and
your shipmate." Vader noticed that Seamus had already
beaten them to the pub -- no doubt spending the coin
begged from Tom for his wife's ailment. Then again,
the wife was as much a hologram as the husband... As
the barkeeper. As the young woman on his arm. "And
what will you be having, this fine afternoon?"
Paris spoke up, "I promised my shipmate corned beef
and cabbage. You'll not make me go back on my word,
Michael?"
Michael Sullivan laughed, "Not when 'twas I who told
you it would be on the hearth for today. Maggie? The
same for you?" The young woman nodded, almost shyly.
Tom showed them to a table. Sullivan brought over
three pints of beer, setting them on the table in
front of them. Vader pulled the chair away from the
table for Maggie, and then took his own seat.
Tom saw Harry Kim across the room, trying urgently to
get his attention. "Excuse me. Have to have a word
with a friend."
Kim dragged Paris's head down. In a fierce whisper, he
said, "Are you out of your mind? Did you warn
Skywalker about Maggie's fiance'?"
Paris watched the Admiral talking to the woman, making
her smile. Charming man, when it suited him to be. "He
knows. I think he's hoping for a confrontation. A
little action."
The pub door slammed open. In the opening stood a man
nearly Skywalker's size. "Speaking of which..."
Vader studied the man that walked up to his table.
Maggie looked a little frightened, a little excited.
Being fought over by two men meant major status for
her, apparently.
The tall villager addressed him. "And who might you
be? A stranger, or you'd know that I've spoken for
Maggie."
Vader remained calm, sipping on his beer. "Tom Paris
told me that Maggie had a betrothed. I expected him to
be a better sort than you." Vader thought to himself,
"Let's see how long it takes for him to swing..."
The angered fiance' lifted his hand. Vader came to his
feet, ready. But Michael Sullivan stepped in.
"Gentlemen. I think this can be settled with a bit of
arm wrestling."
Vader was obviously expected to know what this was, so
he stalled. "Arm wrestling? Every..." he almost said
"planet", but caught himself, "...port has its own
version of that. Show me how it's done here."
The barkeeper walked both men to another table,
gesturing to Vader that he was to sit down. Sullivan
explained the rules of the game.
While Sullivan explained, the table gathered
spectators. Even the EMH was present. Vader could feel
the non-hologram spectators and calculated that there
were at least a dozen real crew members in the room.
The pig farmer took off his jacket and Vader realized
that this was part of the show. Vader rose and removed
his own jacket, putting it methodically on the back of
the chair.
Vader took a deep breath. The Force would be useless
in this contest -- he had promised not to damage the
holoemitters, after all. So it would be a test of his
real physical condition. He smiled faintly.
The smile on the face of the stranger enraged the pig
farmer even more. "So, mister 'better sort'. You think
you can take me?"
Vader grinned widely. "I have been called many things
in my day. That's a new one."
The pig farmer slammed his bulk into the chair
opposite Vader and placed his arm. "We'll see who's
better at _this_, shipman."
Vader grasped the farmer's hand and braced his elbow.
Sullivan said, "Begin!"
As he strained against the other man's arm, Vader
could hear the spectators placing bets, for and
against him. Paris was betting on him... As a tease,
Vader played a little, letting the farmer move the
joined arms toward victory. Vader saw beads of sweat
break out on Tom's forehead.
Vader whispered, but the sound went directly to
Paris's ears. "What are the odds?"
Paris couldn't identify the speaker, but answered,
"Four to one, and steady."
"Good enough."
Tom turned to ask if the whisperer wanted to place a
bet, but...
Vader growled and put real strength into his push. The
position of the arms moved. Maggie's betrothed turned
pale, then red, and was purpling as he struggled
against the vise-like grip but within seconds his hand
was slammed onto the desk.
Enraged by Vader's easy victory after pretending to
nearly lose, the farmer threw a roundhouse swing at
his opponent. Vader ducked a little, and came back up
overturning the table onto the farmer's feet.
That triggered an authentic Irish barroom brawl. Beer
mugs flew, chairs broke, tables were dumped...
In mid-brawl, for a long moment there was calm. Paris
found himself next to Skywalker. Skywalker asked, "Is
this the kind of 'fun' you had in mind?"
Tom ducked a beer mug. "Something like this. Having a
good fight?"
Vader grinned, "Good enough. Not quite as strenuous as
the time I mixed it up with a wookiee, but... Your pig
harvester will do, for a start."
Vader was interrupted by having to duck to escape a
flying chair. He heard Paris protest, "Pig _farmer_!
Pigs are animals!"
=================
Eventually, Sullivan separated the combatants. There
were enough tables intact for Paris and his party --
Maggie was hovering over the injured farmer, nursing
him -- and the barkeeper brought over fresh pints and
platters piled high with pale green leaves, white
tubers, and pink meat. Then he looked around the bar
and sighed.
"Aye, but 'twill be a while before I have the old
place back in proper order."
Vader thought, and brought out the money pouch that
Tom had given him. There was the glint of gold among
the silver and copper. Vader took the gold coin and
flipped it into the air, in the barkeeper's direction.
"That should take care of the damages."
Sullivan ducked his head deeply. "Why, thank you,
m'lud." For surely only nobility could be carrying
such coin around, and give it so freely.
The next round was whiskey, not beer, and fine white
bread to go with the corned beef, not coarse peasant
fare.
Tom looked over at Vader. "Well. _You_'ve made an
impression."
Vader shrugged. The phrase "m'lud" -- my lord -- had
sent a strange shiver through him. Perhaps some day
these people would discover his other identity. But he
hoped to put that off for a while. "You gave me the
coins, but didn't bother to tell me their relative
value. It's on your head."
"Not that it got your young lady's attention."
Vader looked over at her -- where she had been. The
pig farmer and his woman were gone. "She's a hologram.
If one of them could interest me, I would have her
programmed to not get distracted."
Tom shook his head, "Women aren't robots... even
holodeck ones." Then he leaned over to speak out of
Sullivan's hearing, "Although our host had a wife
before the captain deleted her."
Skywalker lifted an eyebrow -- he must have been
studying Tuvok's expressions. Then he took a sip of
whiskey.
===============
A walk around the town cleared the whiskey fumes from
Vader's head. Apparently, real alcohol was available
in small quantities on the holodecks. Unless...
"Mister Paris, what happens to holodeck food when you
leave the holodeck?"
Paris grinned. "Or whiskey? In this case, it stays
with you. When I programmed the town, I tied in the
replicator. So the food and drink is as real as in the
dining hall. Otherwise... if you stay in a holodeck
for a while, any food that's digested stays with you.
The rest disappears."
"Fascinating." A breeze lifted some leaves on the
ground. "I smell salt water. Is there actually an
ocean? Or do we run into a wall?"
"The holodeck is fairly flexible -- I've programmed a
bay in, but not a full ocean. Do you like sailing?"
"On water? I've never tried it." Almost soundlessly,
"There's a lot I've never tried." Skywalker turned his
face toward the "sea."
Paris looked up at the sky, at the hint of sunset on
what was intended to be the western horizon.
"Sullivan's putting on a light supper, and then
there's to be some poetry and stories. I hear you're
interested in the Sidhe?"
At the word, Skywalker turned to look at him. "I...
was curious. There were some coincidences. If the
legends are about my people, I might be from the Alpha
Quadrant like you are -- although it might be in the
far-distant past."
Paris laughed. "Better that than in the far future.
We've already had too many run-ins with the Time
Patrol."
===========
The crowd was of a different mood than in the
afternoon. The workingmen were gone, to sleep for
tomorrow's labors. The drinkers now were the
shopkeepers, the young woman who taught the school,
and more members of the Voyager crew than were there
earlier.
The light supper was newly-baked bread, fresh cheese,
and some sausages sliced thin and served chilled with
the rest.
Vader took a seat and looked around. The bar showed no
sign of a brawl -- either the gold paid for speedy
repairs, or Tom had made some judicious adjustments at
the control console.
The stories and poems began. Michael Sullivan began
with a poem from a book, then a Katie O'Clare sang a
journey-song. Vader realized halfway through that it
was Captain Janeway in the native dress. The murmur of
voices was soothing, and the occasional laughter
relaxed him as well.
Then an almost familiar figure made its way to the
front of the group. It was the Doctor from the
starship, dressed in a robe almost as foreign to these
people as a Star Fleet uniform would have been. The
villagers nodded to him, murmuring, "Father," and
making way for him.
Paris leaned over and whispered toward Vader, "The doc
has been studying Irish folk tales. This should be
amusing."
But instead of a poem, the doctor started to sing. Not
the operatic efforts that as much exasperated his
listeners as entertained them, but a folk song. A song
about a war between two different groups of elves.
Good elves against evil elves, with all the weapons of
magic. For a moment, Vader was reminded of the wars of
the Sith, that had led to the iron-bound law of two
Sith at a time only, no more, no less.
And of the millennium-long tradition that would die
with him, unless he chose to take an apprentice... he
was too tired to train someone from the very
beginning. And he wasn't sure he wanted to follow the
Dark Side any longer -- his anger was failing him. He
had mocked the Jedi, saying that they were old men,
with no passion in them, but now...
The song ended, with massive casualties on both sides.
Vader didn't remember enough of it to know who had
won, but like most real wars, both sides were in bad
shape afterwards.
Janeway, when she heard the doctor sing the word
Sidhe, shot a glance over at Skywalker. He was
listening, with more attention than he had given to
some of the lighter offerings, then his attention
drifted. She wondered... _were_ the Sidhe -- the Sith
in Scottish tales -- his people? The magical combat
could certainly be a telling of incidents like his
rampage in sick-bay...
"Katie?" came Michael's voice. "You had one last poem
for us?"
She nodded. The doctor went back to his place among
the villagers, and _Voyager's_ handsome captain took a
place by the fireplace. "This is called 'The Grief of
a Girl's Heart.'" She took a breath and started...
"O Donall og, if you go across the sea, bring myself
with you..."
Vader's attention drifted. He watched the flames in
the fireplace -- no doubt artificial, but soothing,
giving light, heat, and even some small sound to the
gathering.
The captain's voice intruded on his thoughts. "O,
ochone, and it's not with hunger or with wanting food,
or drink, or sleep, that I am growing thin, and my
life is shortened; but it is the love of a young man
has withered me away."
What? What was this?
Still the female voice, "My heart is as black as the
blackness of the sloe, or as the black coal that is on
the smith's forge; or as the sole of a shoe left in
white halls; it was you put that darkness over my
life."
He remembered. He remembered causing that kind of
grief to -- a half-quirked grin, well, she was older
than him -- to a beautiful girl. To hear it voiced in
the idiom of these people...
Katie had a glitter on her cheek, as if a tear had
touched there for an instant. "You have taken the east
from me; you have taken the west from me; you have
taken what is before me and what is behind me; you
have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!"
Janeway closed the book and sat silent. Vader pushed
back from the table and made his way, heedless of
those between him and the door, to fresh air and the
darkness of night.
Janeway noticed, of course, but was in no position to
follow him. Paris excused himself and slid through
those gathered to the pub's door. He opened it and
closed it quietly behind him.
Paris found Skywalker sitting at the edge of town,
looking up at the stars. There was enough ambient
light for Paris to see the glimmer of moisture on the
older man's cheek.
Paris took a seat next to Skywalker. "All this
travelling through space -- and we still spend time
looking at the scenery."
Paris could see Skywalker's head non, slowly. "The
stars... Is this the view from your homeworld, son?"
"If the library computer's doing its job, yes. I told
it to put in the right sky for Ireland of the early
1900s." Paris looked around, "The planets won't be in
the right places for Earth, right now, and of course,
there are space stations in orbit now... The stars are
the same." Paris laughed, "No near-by novas."
Skywalker didn't answer. Tom moved to where he could
see his face better. "What happened in there? You
moved awfully fast. Something hit a nerve?"
Vader sighed. "I'd say it was before you were born,
but since you might be my great-grandfather, a
thousand times removed --"
Paris laughed, "B'Lanna's genes would certainly
account for your temper. Grandson. Heh."
Vader continued, "-- when I was younger than you are
now, I fell in love. We got married against a lot of
advice. I got into some trouble."
Paris had the feeling this was like saying that Tom
had had a "little problem" at Starfleet Academy. "You
left her behind."
"A ... friend ... of ours spirited her away, hid her
from me, hid our children." A gentle note in
Skywalker's voice. "I met them, once they were grown.
I can see my wife's face in my daughter's. And my son
has some of my abilities... but not my temper,
fortunately."
"You want to get back to them."
Vader shook his head. "No. They're better off without
me, without my shadow over them. Tom, your father is
famous."
"Well, he's an admiral, yes. Doesn't make him famous
to the average Federation citizen, but mention Admiral
Paris in the Fleet, and, yeah."
"Would you have been happier if you hadn't known? If
you had grown up and met him as an adult?"
Paris took a long time to answer. "Happier? Maybe --
he was always pushing me to bring up my grades, to
accomplish more. But then, maybe a lot of what I am is
a result of pushing back at him. If someone else had
raised me, I wouldn't be _me_."
Tom sighed, "What we are... it's everything that ever
happened to us, plus whatever our genes handed us.
Some of us make very bad choices." And much more
quietly, "And some of us get a second chance. Ask
Seven about that. Or Chakotay."
Vader added, in his mind, "Or you, Tom. And maybe even
me."
=============
Commander Chakotay was stretched out on his bed,
reading a book. He'd replicated the physical object as
a special treat for himself -- a bound book reminded
him of home, a reminder that was a hope now, not a
sorrow, since _Voyager_ had received messages from the
Alpha Quadrant.
The author had just introduced a stranger who had
moved into a small town, with forebodings of
disaster... forebodings that echoed Chakotay's own
unease. There was a stranger on board _Voyager_,
someone who had enchanted Tom Paris and took up an
inordinate amount of Janeway's attention... "I don't
like it," Chakotay said to the empty room. "I keep
thinking that we've brought a time bomb aboard."
"You should trust your feelings, young man!"
Chakotay leapt to his feet, looking around... His eyes
widened at the glowing form standing next to the
window. Chakotay could see _through_ him. "What are
you?" The stranger felt more of the spirit-world, than
of any of the energy-based life-forms _Voyager_ had
encountered. "Are you a ghost?"
"'Ghost' is one of your terms for what I am. 'Spirit
guide' is perhaps closer." The form pushed back a
ghostly hood. Underneath, the kindly elder smiled
amicably. "The tales of your fathers are not too alien
to what I am."
Chakotay nodded, as much a token of respect as of
agreement. "I must have a pressing need for a guide,
if you're appearing to me here and now, instead of
when I'm in meditation."
The ghost's face grew somber. "I am here to warn you
about the man you referred to as a 'time bomb.' Your
feelings about him are quite accurate. He is a grave
danger to your ship and crew, perhaps even to your
Federation."
"This 'Anakin Skywalker' that we rescued?"
The spirit's eyes widened, "He gave you that name? I
am surprised. He has hidden his true identity for many
years."
Chakotay sat down. Unsure if he should offer the new
arrival a seat, he gestured towards a chair opposite
him. The ghost nodded and sat. The glow around him
kept Chakotay from seeing whether the spirit-being was
hovering, or was actually using the surface.
"So 'Skywalker' is a false name?"
"No. It is his real name, one he abandoned before he
began his course of murder and annihilation."
Chakotay studied his visitor. "And you are?"
"I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. In life, I was a Jedi knight."
Apparently Chakotay didn't react satisfactorily to the
name, or to the term "Jedi." "You have already
encountered Skywalker's powers. My order taught the
proper usage of those abilities. Skywalker was a
student of mine, until he decided I was holding him
back. In his haste, Skywalker learned how to tap
darker forces, and they consumed him. When he
renounced his old allegiances, he chose to call
himself Darth Vader."
Chakotay nodded.
Kenobi continued, "The man you rescued is more
dangerous than you can possibly imagine. He is a Dark
Lord of the Sith, a servant of evil." Kenobi went on
and on about "Jedi Knights", "the Force", and "the
Empire". And someone named Darth Vader who had killed
countless thousands..
"And you have returned to revenge your own death at
his hand?"
The ghost paused. Then, "I am here to warn you about
this great evil you are permitting to walk freely
among your crew."
Chakotay was still skeptical. Yes, he had a bad
feeling about this "Skywalker", but he wasn't inclined
to accept unsupported information even from a "spirit
guide." If Kenobi _was_ an authentic ghost. A grin
quirked across Chakotay's lips as he remembered an old
quote about "a bit of undigested gruel."
"He gave us a bit of trouble when he arrived, but he
was delirious from the pain he was in. Since then,
he's behaved himself."
Kenobi gave Chakotay a sharp look. "If he chooses to
act, you will have no time to rescue yourselves. He
can kill with a mere gesture of his hand."
Chakotay sighed. "I will give the Captain your
message. And we will keep an eye on Mister Skywalker."
The old man shook his head in obvious distress. "I
fear you are already lost. The more his body heals,
the more dangerous he is. Kill him immediately, before
he kills all of you!" The ghost vanished as quickly as
he had appeared, leaving behind a thoughtful Chakotay.
****************
Chakotay finished his story while Captain Janeway
sipped her coffee. "Let me be sure I've got this
straight. Something that might be a ghost, calling
himself 'Obi-Wan Kenobi', appeared in your room,
warned you about our convalescent, and then vanished."
"Yes, Captain." Well, at least she was _listening_.
"My people have numerous tales of ghostly visitors,
and this Kenobi has many of the right markers. And he
seemed genuinely concerned about _Voyager's_ safety."
Janeway nodded and jotted down some notes -- Chakotay
hadn't stopped long enough to prepare a formal report
for her on the incident.
"According to this Kenobi, Skywalker -- Darth Vader --
is a ruthless murderer. How would we go about proving
-- or disproving! -- this accusation?"
"One of the pieces salvaged from Skywalker's ship was
a data storage unit. I asked Seven to retrieve
whatever she could from the crytal when Tom found it,
but I didn't put a high priority on the job. It looks
like we might have some urgency now. I don't feel any
better than you do about suspecting Skywalker on no
more evidence than a possible hallucination's word."
Janeway sipped her coffee, stopped mid-sip. "Kenobi
_did_ mention one thing we can test. Have the doctor
mention the name 'Darth Vader' to Mister Skywalker,
while he's being monitored for pulse and
blood-pressure. If he's hiding something, there should
be a reaction."
Chakotay shook his head. "The computer search
Skywalker performed had that name, as well as Kenobi's
and a good number of others. Vader could even be the
enemy Skywalker was fleeing -- that would cause a
stress test to spike, too. That data crystal might
well be our only real evidence, something independent
of Skywalker's word -- or Kenobi's."
Janeway nodded. "Computer. Location of Seven of Nine."
The computer's voice, "Seven of Nine is in her
regeneration chamber."
"Comm off." Janeway shook her head. "She's been having
problems interfacing with her cubical lately. I don't
think we need to drag her out for an incomplete
report."
Chakotay nodded. "Especially if I were only dreaming
myself."
**********