It has been a long time, dear readers. But know I'm still around. I hope you enjoy this next installment. I'm enjoying writing this – especially trying to get the voices of each character in here. As always, please leave me a review and let me know what you think.
Voyager, Briefing Room
Chakotay sat at the head of the table - another chair he was uncomfortable occupying. He eyed the Virocan scientist, weighing the odds of whether or not he could be trusted.
The white-haired and green eyed Virocan sat at the other end of the table, hands folded and breathing deeply. "My daughters, Verla and Veranna," Ventron began, "were imprisoned for nothing. They know nothing about my research."
"Pardon me," Harry interrupted, "but it seems to me that your people always have their reasons for doing anything. Your society is neatly planned for all that I can tell. I can't imagine your daughters being arrested for nothing."
"But, they were; I assure you." Ventron met the young ensign's eyes. "How do I convey this to you?" The Virocan looked at his audience and judges - Chakotay, B'Elanna, Paris, Kim, Neelix, the Doctor, and Seven of Nine all sat in the briefing room. All had questions for the scientist.
"Perhaps, you should begin at the beginning," the Doctor supplied. "I for one am interested in your research on the virus."
"Yes," Ventron shook his head wearily. "Yes, the beginning. When I was a small child about 120 years ago, there was a disease, a great disease, that wiped out many Virocans. I lost my parents then."
"Was that what your historical record refers to as the Purge?" Tom asked.
Ventron eyed the human. "Yes," he said carefully. "I'm impressed you know our history."
"Then…if it was such a horrible disease, why is the time praised in your records?"
"You have to understand that my people - we are planners. We like to have control. There was once a time when Viroca was so heavily populated that there was not enough food, enough water to sustain ourselves. The Purge was regarded as a necessary operation to ensure our future survival." The Virocan walked slowly to the viewscreen at the front of the room. "The Councils of Military and Religion created the virus at the time to target those whom they deemed were not worth saving - my parents included." Ventron sighed deeply - as if it was taking great effort to explain.
"That's murder!" B'Elanna exclaimed, straightening up in her chair. "How could your governing bodies - your religion - possibly support that?!"
"Over time," Ventron continued to explain, "they did not. Grant it, the Purge did preserve our planet for a future generation - that is what our religion teaches us. But…" the Virocan paused for effect, "that does not mean that what happened was right."
"Human bioethicists largely renounced eugenics in the twentieth century," the Doctor noted. "Did something similar occur on Viroca?"
"Many researchers, scientists, and some of our religious philosophers began to question the way the Purge occurred - the ethics behind the virus," Ventron replied. "My parents' deaths sparked my own interest in biological research. In time, Virocans came to reject the killing of many to save the few. Over 65 years ago, the Councils pledged never again to use a virus against its own people."
"That's all very interesting," Kim chimed in, "but what does your history have to do with the virus now affecting Viroca - the one Voyager brought to you."
Ventron met Commander Chakotay's eyes. "Because I believe history is repeating itself."
"Why?"
"There are some who currently sit on the Councils who believe - and want to return to - the days of the Purge."
"Let me guess," Paris shrugged, "that Commander Veilor fellow looks like one who chases power."
"He craves control," Ventron answered solemnly. "He believes that society should adhere to a certain order - that the few are better than the many."
"Sounds charming," B'Elanna murmured, rolling her eyes.
"He's charismatic and has a multitude of followers. It's why he was easily elected as the Commander of the Virocan Military Council," Ventron noted.
"And the virus?" Seven questioned.
"I do not believe that Voyager had anything to do with bringing that pathogen to Viroca. In fact, I'm sure of it," Ventron said firmly, placing his palms down on the table.
"So, Voyager's arrival on your planet was just perfect timing?" Kim piped up.
Ventron shook his head in agreement. "The perfect scapegoat to unleash a virus on Viroca once again."
"Well, I for one like the idea that we did not cause 750,000 deaths on one planet," Neelix added, looking at his colleagues.
Chakotay smiled. "Me too. But how do we prove it?"
"If I was still on Viroca, I could help," Ventron replied. "I still have allies at the Virocan Center for Biological Research and Development."
"Oh…we may have a spy still on your planet," Chakotay chuckled and tapped his combadge. "Commander Tuvok, were you listening?"
"Yes, Captain," the Vulcan replied from his shuttle on Viroca. Chakotay winced at the word.
"Do you have a plan?"
"Yes, Commander, I believe I do," Tuvok answered.
"Get on it. We need to prove that Voyager has been framed if we are to have any luck in freeing Captain Janeway."
"Acknowledged."
"And my daughters," Ventron added. "You will help me rescue my daughters."
"Yes," Chakotay replied. "I gave you my word."
It's okay Kathryn. We're coming. Somehow…we'll get you out.
…
Prison Cell 8432
She is tired. So, so tired. Exhausted.
Kathryn laid on the bed, an arm resting across her blackened eye and cheek. It's a futile attempt to block the single light bulb that hangs from a small chain in the middle of her cell.
Her tongue rakes across her teeth - stopping at one molar - prodding. She hopes that the tooth is not cracked.
What I wouldn't give for a hypospray right now…she found herself thinking.
She breaths in and out, attempting to distract herself from the pain.
She feels disgusting. Grimy. Worse than spending a few days camping without a functioning bathtub.
Her bare feet are caked in yellow powder. Her hair has the faintest tinge of yellow too - dust settling. Her body - it's everywhere - making a striking contrast to the deep blue and purple of her wounded eye.
It was not the first time that the sonic shower in her ready room crossed her mind.
She thought about the passing days. It had been a week, almost two, since Commander Veilor sentenced her.
Two weeks…since…I…caused so much death. I wonder if the disease has abated since Voyager left. Is Viroca healing?
A faint noise stirred her from her thoughts. Kathryrn wonders if she has it in her.
Any comfort left to give?
She knows it is Veranna crying. The young Virocan was so glad her sister was alive - and yet - and yet. Her older sister could not comfort her - could not speak - could not offer a voice to sooth the teenager's thoughts.
Veranna sat in her cell alone - wondering where her sister had been placed. She had called Verla's name, but then remembered.
Verla could not respond - even if she wanted to.
And so Veranna wept.
After a few moments, the young girl sat down beside a wall of her cell. "Kathryn," she called. "Can you hear me?"
Kathryn listened. She heard Veranna, yet she debated with herself.
Is it fair for me to give her false hope?
I'm tired. If I don't answer, perhaps she'll think I fell asleep.
I don't have anything left in me to give.
But then…somewhere within her…hope remained.
She stood slowly from the cot. She settled next to the wall. "Yes, Veranna, I can hear you," her voice strained - speaking loudly. "What's on your mind?"
"My sister," Veranna's voice broke.
"I know." She attempted to sound soft, comforting, as a mother trying to soothe her child. Unfortunately for Kathryn, she had no experience in the matter. A teenage breakdown was something she felt ill equipped to handle.
"What they did to her! She won't be…won't ever…" the teenager could barely voice her thoughts as tears streamed down her face.
"You don't know that," Kathryn insisted, her voice up an octave. "When we get out of here, I'm sure there are doctors who can…"
"No," Veranna interrupted, anger festering, "there won't be any doctors! Not from Viroca, not from Voyager. No one will help us. We are going to die here!" she shouted. Her fists pounded the prison wall until they hurt.
After a few moments, Veranna slid down the wall, slumping to the floor. Her eyes were red raw.
"Are you finished?" Kathryn asked, her lip quirking.
"Yes," the teenager murmured.
Kathryn ran her hand through her short hair. "Veranna," she spoke plainly, "you cannot give up hope. You give up, and they win. It's as simple as that."
Veranna sat silent, listening. Her face buried in her hands, knees scrunched close to her body. She looked at her forearms - where her sharp silver spikes had once been. "But…they've already taken so much," she finally voiced.
"But you cannot let them take more," Janeway spoke with sincerity. She let out a breath. "There are times in here when I wonder if I'll ever see the stars again," she began. "Sure, we get to see the sun, but not for long and then it's down to the mines. But…the stars…" she sighed, a twinkle in her eye, "they dazzle. When I was a child, I couldn't wait to get out there and explore them. And now…to not see them. To face a future where I may never see them again…" her voice trailed off.
"It's devastating," Veranna supplied.
"In some ways," Kathryn replied. "But…and here's the thing…no matter what they do…they cannot take my memory of them. My memory of looking out at the vast blackness speckled with light from my Ready Room. My memory of my crew waiting for whatever I gave them in the briefing room. My memory of my ship when it was full of life whenever Neelix would throw a party in the mess hall. My memory of Chakotay leading me through a vision quest, My memory of my family. Those are things that no matter how long I remain here that they can never take away, that I'll never lose. And if I keep those things, they can't win." Kathryn stared at the wall, clinging to hope, even if, deep down, she too struggled with losing it.
"So, you're telling me to have hope," Veranna spoke.
"Yes…yes. Hope is your best defense."
"I'll try," Veranna promised.
"That's all I ask," Kathryn replied kindly.
"Kathryn?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," said the Virocan.
…
Virocan Penal Colony - Command Center
In another room, kept secreted away from the prisoners, hidden with no visible door, Commandant Vernard sat at his desk, listening to his prisoner's conversations.
In truth, the Virocan guards heard everything from their command center. Prisoners had no secrets - no privacy.
They heard everything.
They observed everything.
It was an easy way to maintain control.
To know what their prisoners valued.
To hear what their prisoners whispered in the darkness when they thought they were alone.
"So," Commandant Vernard sneered, "Prisoner 8432 thinks she can hold onto hope. Undoubtedly, she knows that we are observing her. Undoubtedly, she knows that we are watching her every move, listening to her every word," the alien spoke to himself, sizing up his prey. "Obviously, she does not care what we know or hear." He stroked his chin as if in deep thought.
An impressive creature, he found himself thinking. Yet…he was loath to admit the fact.
"Perhaps, she is issuing a challenge?" the commandant mused aloud to his guards, his voice silken. "If so…I gladly accept."
"Sir?" one of his guards asked.
"Prisoner 8432 once thought she had nothing left to lose. She said so alone in her cell," the Commandant eyed the viewscreen. He stood watching the screen - mesmerized by Prisoner 8432. Even with her eye as black as tar, she still maintained a steely gaze - strong, determined with just a glimmer of hope.
He snickered. "She does not know that she will lose everything. Hope…what a fickle thing to cling to…Memories can vanish with time." He looked at his guards, awaiting his orders. "I promised that I would break her. And I always keep my promises."
"What do you ask of us?" a guard voiced, a smile cracking on his lips.
"Tomorrow, Prisoner 8432 will not meet her quota. It will be her last day in the mines," Vernard announced.
"Yes, sir," the guard saluted, a knowing look in his eyes.
"All creatures," Commandant Vernard finished, "can be tamed."
…
Viroca Planet - Outskirts of Central City, Veran
Tuvok sat in his shuttle, looking over the data that this new unfound ally Ventron had sent him.
It was a list of names and locations of Virocans that the scientist trusted - a list of those whom he believed would be willing to help.
One Virocan female on the list proved interesting - an eccentric biologist who lived alone on the outskirts of Veran - not too far from where his shuttle had landed.
According to Ventron, this woman, called Vanarice, was an exceptional scientist - a little unorthodox but brilliant. Vanarice preferred her run-down shack on the edges of the city - not some high-rise, industrial building like the rest of Virocans who populated the capital city.
Despite her unusual taste in living arrangements, Vanarice remained on the council for the Virocan Center for Biological Research and Development. Her expertise on pathogenic development more respected than her odd behavior.
In fact, Tuvok had met Vanarice when he and the Captain visited the Center. The biologist seemed uninterested and unthreatened by Voyager.
Odd indeed…thought the Vulcan, especially when almost every authority figure the senior officers had met regarded them with suspicion.
He was glad when Ventron provided her name as Tuvok had also put her on the list of those he wanted to contact.
He needed someone…an insider…to provide access to Ventron's research at the Center for Biological Research and Development. He could not get inside the building otherwise.
Tuvok secured his phaser and tricorder at his side and then fastened a cloak around his neck, raising the hood above his head.
He hoped that his visit would go unnoticed by anyone.
The fact that Vanarice lived far away from prying eyes was a stroke of luck.
Tuvok walked to the coordinates that Ventron had given him. He did not mind the exercise. Although the capital city of Veran was industrial, modern, with towering buildings and skyscrapers littering the cityscape, the outskirts of the city was desolate.
A bleak, brownish, auburn haze of dust and sand.
Desolate.
No water.
Few plants - some varying species of what could be described on Earth as a cactus - but little else.
The Commander wondered why the biologist preferred a shack out here than the comforts of the city.
After about an hour, he had arrived at a small hovel - an orange color that blended well into the sand and dirt of the landscape. Hard to spot if one was not looking.
He came to the door and knocked.
"Not expecting visitors," a voice from inside murmured. "Never expecting visitors," it repeated.
"Excuse me?" Tuvok voiced. "Is Vanarice available?"
"Available…available, yes, yes, always available," the voice repeated in rapid succession. "But not wanting anyone. Never expecting anyone."
"Could I perhaps speak with her, if you do not mind opening the door?" Tuvok wondered if there was a window he could peer through.
Slowly, the front door opened, and a middle-aged Virocan woman appeared at the door. Her spikes were long, curling at the ends, and her beedy eyes a fierce gray. She appeared hunched - as if always bent over something.
"Are you the biologist Vanarice of the Center for Biological Research and Development?" the Vulcan asked, remembering meeting the woman who struck him as quite odd.
"Yes, yes, Vanarice, that I am," she spoke quickly. "And I know who you are. Yes, yes, I do. The Chief of Security from Voyager, yes, yes." Vanarice eyed the Vulcan. "No threat - you are. No threat is Voyager."
The Vulcan cocked an eyebrow. "I am glad you think so."
"What can the Chief of Security want with Vanarice?" the woman continued, paying no bit of attention to the Vulcan at her door as she retreated into her house, leaving the door open.
Tuvok followed after her into a room - a home lab really.
Vanarice hunched over a microscope, jotting notes quickly on a data pad.
Tuvok began slowly, "Ventron sent me here believing that you have information that could lead to the acquittal of Captain Kathryn Janeway." He came right to the point.
Vanarice looked up for a moment, as if sizing up the Vulcan and then refocused on her work. "Information," she muttered, "information…I do not have."
"Your friend Ventron seems to think otherwise?" Tuvok pressed.
"Ventron…a friend yes…Ventron…daughters he has…two of them," Vanarice muttered.
"His daughters are in danger," Tuvok supplied, watching the woman intently, hoping to meet her eyes. "They have been imprisoned for something they know nothing about."
"Nothing, no," Vanarice repeated. "They know nothing…but I do," she winked at the Vulcan.
"What do you know?"
"Not what I know…but what Ventron knows," Vanarice said in a sing-song voice. She was almost childlike in her movements as she marveled at whatever she was looking at under the microscope.
"And can you tell me?" Tuvok spoke gently, hoping to coax the woman into revealing something that could benefit him…something that could perhaps save Captain Janeway.
"No, no, no," replied Vanarice. "Never tell," she smiled.
Tuvok let out a deep breath, perplexed. It appeared he was getting nowhere.
"Never tell," Vanarice repeated, "but can show. Not information that you need, Tuvok, but access."
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow again at the sound of his name - impressed that the woman knew it.
"And can you give me access? To Ventron's research?" he asked.
"Of course I can," Vanarice replied - as if it was a stupid question. "I am on the Council," she smiled, "and council members have access to anything."
"Can you get me inside the Center?"
"Yes, yes, yes," Vanarice replied. "But it's dangerous…though the danger is not from Voyager." She cast a knowing glance at Tuvok.
"We've established that already," the Commander replied, squaring his shoulders.
Vanarice paid no attention to him, returning to her microscope.
"May I see what you are observing?" Tuvok ventured.
"Yes…yes…yes," Vanarice said as she moved out of the Commander's way. "Be careful…it is the pathogen. Though, I suppose, it does not affect you," she winked.
Tuvok looked intently under Vanarice's microscope - a device with visual acuity that could have put the Doctor's equipment to shame.
And then he saw it - a small black mark on the pathogen - an odd triangular symbol.
It could not be a coincidence.