Disclaimer: see part 1
Cœur de Lion
By Katie
Chapter 6
Those Who Hunt for Their Needs
After the Doctor had completed the surgery and finished
repairing Seven's injuries, he convinced Ysakc that her neural
interface had to be exchanged. One of the projectiles of the
Hirogen and Nazis' Lugers had all but missed Seven's cranium.
Instead, it had hit her neural interface. To the Doctor's big surprise,
the device had been damaged only slightly, but it was enough that
he could justify an exchange.
"Is the exchange really necessary?" Ysakc demanded. "To
me it seems perfectly operational." He ran one of his Hirogen
instruments over the device that was still under Seven's pale skin.
"Yes, it is," the Doctor replied sharply. "This woman is a
former Borg, as you may have noticed by now. The damage of the
interface may cause damage to her implants. I don't want to take
the risk of injuring her. I have to help people and prevent
injuries—I understand pretty well that this concept is entirely
foreign to you."
Ysakc snorted about the last remark of the hologram. "See
that you finish it soon. The Alpha is waiting."
So the Doctor had managed to exchange Seven's interface
with a contaminated one. He just hoped that the nanoprobes would
assimilate the device quickly. In regard to this, he had the same
premise as the Hirogen: to bring her back to the Holodeck as
quickly as possible. Only when she was in the artificially generated
environment would the interface be activated—as well as the
nanoprobes.
It was high time they did something. Quite a few of the
crew had often been severely injured, and their bodies needed time
to heal. Healing wasn't only a matter of surgical skill, even if as
brilliant as his, but also a matter of time. Time was something they
didn't have. As soon as the medical procedures were completed,
Ysakc would send them back to the holodecks. Several of the crew
had been brought back to Sickbay only hours—or even little—
later because wounds had opened or Ysakc's little knowledge of
how to treat humans had caused internal bleedings. The crew had
fared surprisingly well, but this wasn't a cause to take his time.
Any of them could break down any time, and maybe he wasn't
going to be able to help them. The Doctor wasn't going to have any
of his crew killed by the Hirogen.
The only thing that soothed him somewhat was the fact
that the neural interfaces circumvented the memory centers of the
victims' brains. The damage the Hirogen inflicted on the bodies
were far easier to heal than the dark spots they'd leave on the
crew's souls. He wasn't sure whether he'd be able to help them.
He'd been programmed with quite a few reports on people
traumatized by war, and as far as he knew only few of his crew
would be able to go back on duty if they were to remember what
the Hirogen had done to them. At least not without professional
help, and he knew that he was far from being a counselor.
He'd contacted Joe Carey via a bugproof channel. It was
the only way to contact him, because there was no reason for the
engineer to come to Sickbay. He filled him in on their plan. Carey
should be busy reprogramming the replicators by now. The Doctor
trusted him to having found a reasonable pretext to *repairing* the
replicators.
Shortly after that, something exceptional had happened.
Kaar himself had contacted him to fill him in on the plans he was
having with Harry, Seven and Sam. The Hirogen commandant had
obviously undergone a lobotomy, for he'd completely changed his
mind. He had told him that he was going to send the three humans
to *peaceful* scenarios. At least he'd said that he'd ordered his
people to stand down and not to kill any of the Federations. The
incident with Seven, though, didn't convince the Doctor of Kaar's
sincerity. So he pretended to trust the Hirogen, but he kept his plan
up and running behind the commandant's back. He wasn't
convinced by Kaar's sudden interest in the way of life on Voyager.
After all that had happened it was very unlikely that Kaar was
indulging in sociological studies other than those of wars. If he
were sincere, he'd have put an end to the simulations by now.
=/\=
Ever since Frank *François* Miller had joined them,
Catherine seemed somehow rested and endowed with an entirely
new strength. To Paul it was obvious that Frank was the source of
this new strength. He'd talked to Brigitte earlier and had found that
she too feared that Catherine would break apart once Frank left her.
He was American, a soldier on top of that, it was just a matter of
time that he left her. Therefore, he was deeply concerned about his
friend, but there was hardly a chance to talk to her about this.
Her new strength showed itself for the first time when Père
Goulot arrived with Noëmie at the *Cœur de Lion*. A hermit, he
never came to town, so when he appeared now with Noëmie in his
arms, all of them knew that this didn't mean anything good. Their
suspicions were born out when he told them about Séverine's
assassination. Catherine remained as cool as the lake in the woods.
As always, she had to be the calming influence, she and Paul had
to make sure that the others didn't panic. The only difference
between the two of them was that Catherine drew her strength from
Paul, who seemed to having been blessed with it by nature. Paul,
however, knew that he couldn't be the only source for her strength.
Part of it had to come from the man she loved, and he himself was
*only* her best friend. His and her calm had to rub off on the
others. It was of utmost importance now that all of them stay calm.
This didn't mean though that they had to suppress their grief or
anger or disappointment. It was just that for the sake of the
Résistance that they did not show it in public. They were too close
to their goal as though they could put it and themselves into
jeopardy.
Goulot hadn't even finished with what Noëmie had told
him earlier, when Brigitte ran for the bathroom. The others wished
they could throw up as well, getting rid of this awful thing in an
easy way. But the death of a friend never was an easy affair. After
she'd told everything she'd seen to Goulot and the American
contact, Noëmie had withdrawn herself into a protecting shell. It
was the only way for the little girl to escape the haunting
memories, the pictures of Séverine being shot that had engraved
themselves into her mind forever. Ever since Goulot had gently put
her down to sit on a chair, she hadn't made a single movement. She
kept clutching her rag doll, staring at no particular point on the
dark floorboards.
After Brigitte had returned from the bathroom, still looking
a little pale, Catherine asked her to take care of the little girl. She
deemed it a good idea, perhaps both of them would be able to calm
down. Maybe Noëmie would even wake from her apathy; but
being honest with herself, Catherine doubted that. She never gave
up hope, though. *Never say never* was an ancient saying, but to
her it was absolutely true, and to the Maquis it was the essential
point of their philosophy.
So Catherine pulled Brigitte aside by the arm, and let a
small flask glide into one of the younger woman's big pockets of
her maternity dress. Brigitte looked at her in surprise. "It's some of
the mildest cognacs I have. Give the little one a little bit of it, she'll
be able to go to sleep more easily then. But take it easy, listen!"
Catherine told her, looking at her intently. She knew that Brigitte
would never touch a drop of alcohol, let alone let a five-year-old
have some. Brigitte, however, though still shell-shocked, realized
what the Madame was having in mind, and nodded, padding the
flask through the fabric of the pocket.
"D'accord. La pauvre!" Brigitte murmured. She squeezed
Catherine's hand.
"Are you alright, honey? What about the child?" the older
woman asked in genuine concern. Brigitte was going to give birth
soon, it was only a matter of days. Brigitte forced a smile on her
face, but it never brightened the ridges on her forehead. "We'll be
okay. I'm just a little bit upset, that's all, but I guess we all are."
Catherine gathered her in a hug, feeling the baby kick her
mother when she touched her belly with hers. Tears stung her eyes.
She wanted so much to have a child but couldn't, and this young
woman who didn't want to be a mother was expecting. Why did
God do that to people?
Joe Carey didn't know how to go on like this. He took
whatever rare spare minute the Hirogen gave him to sneak into
Cargo Bay Two and work on the reprogramming of the replicators.
It was hard work, because the Hirogen were simply everywhere in
the computer core of Voyager, which made it impossible to work
undetected. Of course did he run simulations before he worked
online to make sure this would work in real life, but he was failing
again and again. Whatever he attempted, there would always be a
hole in the net that would shop him if he worked online.
Now the Irish man was sitting in the Mess Hall having his
lunch while repairing some broken conduits in a padd Ysakc had
handed him earlier. As if he hadn't anything better to do than
repairing broken padds. He chewed on his dried food from the
emergency rations and checked on the padd. It was, however, a
nice distraction, it was child's work that would help to calm his
mind for a while.
The pressure on him was immense, the hopes of all his
crewmates was burdening him. If he were to fail, the Doctor
wouldn't be able to put his plan into effect. He didn't know as to
whether the hologram had another plan up his sleeve, so he urged
himself to find a way to sneak into the replicator programs. This
was particularly difficult since the Hirogen were using this
technology very often, doing the reprogramming themselves. They
would detect any changes in the food's matrix immediately. Even
Harry Kim's subroutine wasn't much of a help. It disguised
sneaking into to replicator program, but it didn't disguise the
changes.
There had to be a way. What about the IDIC? Was it to fail
right when you needed it most? Logic, Carey, he thought, think
logically. He focused on the padd and checked on the scrolling
function. Up and down it went, fine. He pushed some other
buttons, all of them were working fine as well. What he needed
was an expert on working undercover, some kind of agent or spy,
someone who could disguise herself very well, someone who had
fooled them all—someone like Seska.
And suddenly he knew what he had to do. The secret
holonovel she'd written popped back into his mind. The captain
herself and B'Elanna had written the solution down in the logs.
Why hadn't he had the idea earlier? The solution to this was on
their very hands, and he hadn't even realized it! Quickly, with
spirits risen, he crossed the Mess Hall in a few long strides and
began to work feverishly on the computer console of the captain's
former private dining room.
He wasn't going to let his crew down. Not as long as he
was conscious of the role he played aboard this ship ...
=/\=
Kaar had changed from his Nazi uniform into the splendid
garments of medieval nobility. In fact, he'd chosen the robes a king
would wear, for in this holodeck he himself represented King
Richard Cœur de Lion. He didn't know whether it was pure
coincidence that the nightclub on the other holodeck was called the
same, but frankly, he didn't care. More pressing things were
troubling his mind right now.
Sitting in the high-backed and cushioned with crimson
velvet chair, he let his entourage wait for his sign. They were
waiting for the announcements he had to make after the talks he'd
been leading with the representative of Sultan Saladin. To them—
the holographic characters and the Federations whom he'd had had
implanted with the neural interfaces—were waiting in respectful
silence in his tent and outside. Kaar let his gaze wander over the
crowd of people. There was Harry Kim, dressed in heavy leather
boots, leggings and a long robe, his short sword and dagger were
dangling from his belt, ready to be drawn against an enemy. There
were several of what the Federations called the junior staff as well,
mostly engineers and members of the security team. From Ysakc's
reports he knew that quite a few of them had been injured severely
during the past few turns. However, none of them showed any
signs of those injuries, for Ysakc and the holographic Doctor of the
Federations had taken good care of them.
For the first time in his long and eventful life as a hunter,
Kaar was second-guessing not only himself, but also the way of his
people. In the language of their victims their name meant *Those-
who-hunt-for-their-needs*. But this name stemmed from a time
when they'd lived peacefully on a planet, earning their living by
hunting the game they needed, but nothing more. Not unlike the
ancestors of the Federations, their history had soon grown more
and more violent. Other than their prey though, the Hirogen had
never managed to make peace with each other and later with the
Off-Worlders. The ability to survive and to make peace was
something of which he envied these people. They were able to
solve conflicts—even if not always in a peaceful way—but at least
they tried. His people, instead, had gone far beyond the point
of no return. Now they couldn't live without the thrill of the battle
or rather without the thrill they experienced whenever they killed
their innocent and often defenseless prey. Their deaths meant the
Hirogen's survival. But how long could they go on like this? Their
sects were roaming the entire sector, going farther each turn in the
search for prey. They were weak, even though they had powerful
weapons. Once they didn't find prey any more, they were to die.
Unless they found a way to quench their blood-thirst in
another way. Their scientists had researched their problem. This
was entirely a matter of hormones, but there wasn't a drug to be
found that could cure them all and let them live as the peaceful
people they'd once been.
This had been long ago and people had given up on finding
an elegant solution. Their culture had decayed, their writings had
been lost and destroyed on purpose, and their artists had exchanged
their brushes and crayons for weapons. Most of his people even
had forgotten about their heritage. Kaar was one of the few who
still remembered.
Kaar also was one of the few who didn't only search for
new prey, but for a cure for his people as well.
Now he seemed to have found it. A people who didn't even
belong to this sector, who had been sent here against their will
were having the cure his people needed so badly. And what was he
doing? He wanted to get it by force, take it without asking first. He
hated himself for this, but what could he do? Looking for a cure
was illegal, being different was illegal. The only thing he could do
was awaken his men's curiosity for the way of the Federations.
Until now, this plan had backfired though. Instead of waking their
curiosity he'd added oil to the fire and made them even more blood
thirsty.
Yet the ways of these people was so fascinating. He'd
gotten to know them very well by means of the war scenarios of
their history he'd been running on the holodecks. One thing had
fascinated him more than anything else: the Federations' way of
reproduction. In the course of his observations he'd studied several
couples who had mated in the holodecks. From the research he'd
done in their databases, he knew everything about this in theory.
When he'd watched a mating couple for the first time, he'd deemed
it a painful business, because both the male and the female had
been moaning and crying out loud during the act. Later he found
out that these had been sounds of passion. It was a strange concept
to him that the Federations' mating wasn't bound to a particular
time of the circle, rather than to their lust, and that they were doing
it mainly to enjoy themselves rather than to really reproduce. He'd
also observed mating couples who were having the same sex—a
totally strange concept to him. Kaar found out about *love* in the
database. He was surprised as to how much information there was
stored about this concept. He remembered that once there had been
a similar concept with the Hirogen, but this had been ages ago,
now their reproducing depended solely on the need for hunters. His
latest couple of guinea pigs had been the Captain and the First
Officer of Voyager. He realized that there had to be something they
called *chemistry*--which also was a science to them, no wonder
given the mass of information he'd found on *love* in the
computer—something the two humans were sharing, according to
their and others' log entries. Kaar was doing them so much harm,
taking so much that he wanted to give back something as well.
Being a matchmaker wasn't what he'd intended to do aboard this
ship in the first place, but to him it was harmless and a way to say
he was sorry for the way of his people.
Kaar's gaze kept wandering over the faces of the crowd
who were watching him expectantly, some of them were shifting
their weight from one foot to the other to vent their discomfort.
The sun was scorching hot, not a single breeze was stirring the
pennants. At least, the long awaited messenger from Saladin had
brought them some news.
It was high time something happened.
Kaar produced a padd he'd hidden in his sleeve and cast a
controlling glance at the display. The engineer who'd taken Harry
Kim's place after the latter had become Harold the Voyager from
Cymru was busy fiddling with the replicator programs again. The
Hirogen didn't know what the Human had in mind, but it seemed as
though his latest attempt in changing the food matrix had been
successful. Not for a single moment did Kaar doubt that this was
about freeing his fellow crew from the grip of the neural interface.
A smile tugged at Kaar's thin reptile lips. Something was
happening, at last. He wasn't going to stop the engineer. He was
just proving once more that the Federations never gave up finding
a solution. Sometimes you simply had to punch your way through.
Kaar rose from his chair and prepared himself to make his
long awaited announcements.
=/\=
Noëmie did anything she was told. The shock she'd
experienced when witnessing Séverine's assassination was holding
her innocent child's mind in a tight grip, so that the only way to
escape the haunting pictures was retreating into a protecting shell.
She still trusted, however, those people who meant her good.
Catherine and Brigitte and Jean certainly were among them, but
she couldn't tell them what she'd seen in the woods. It cost her
enough strength to remain in reality as far as to do what she was
told. Noëmie hadn't sacrificed her will for the sake of her sanity, it
was just so much easier then. Besides, Brigitte meant her good, she
wanted to help her, so why object?
So she didn't turn a hair when the golden liquid Brigitte
had given her to drink was running down her throat in a stream of
burning heat. The pain wasn't uncomfortable, on the contrary, it
distracted her. To the little girl's surprise the liquid left a strange
velvety feeling on her tongue. She wondered why something that
tasted so bad actually could turn her tongue into velvet, spread a
warm feeling in her stomach and make her lightheaded. Noëmie
couldn't remember a time when she'd felt better. She smiled at
Brigitte who was looking worriedly at her. The woman was
holding her tight in an embrace, as tight as possible. There was a
baby inside her rounded belly, Brigitte had told her that months
ago. She'd allowed her to touch her belly and feel the baby inside
as often as she wanted. It always sent a funny feeling through her
small body, a feeling that was almost as pleasant as the one the
golden liquid evoked in her. The mixture of both was even better,
and so she closed her eyes to enjoy the sleepiness that covered her
with a warm blanket.
Brigitte let out a sigh of relief when she recognized that
sleep had found the little girl so quickly. She didn't know whether
this was due to the cognac or anything else, she was just glad.
Noëmie's small hand glided down her belly when her little body
relaxed in her sleep, so Brigitte covered her hand with hers and let
her child feel the warmth of their hands.
She was still devastated from the news Père Goulot had
brought them earlier this afternoon. The news had left her shell-
shocked, because Séverine had been a difficult but dear friend to
her. So she could only imagine how much pain was wracking
Goulot right now. Séverine had always been the daughter he'd
never had. Maybe this had been due to the fact that both of them
had rather difficult characters, Brigitte didn't know. The only thing
she knew was that nothing and no one would ever be able to ease
his pain. If only she were able to show how passionate she was
about his loss. This was more important to her than the fact that
with Séverine's death her last chance to contact Bobby had also
died. He would never get her letter, their relationship was finally
and irretrievably over now. She hadn't put much hope in that letter
of hers anyway, so why bother? Bobby wouldn't want a French girl
with a Kraut's bastard as his wife.
=/\=
Davies had briefed his captain on the incident in the
woods, and now was lying on the campbed in the tent he was
sharing with three other men. The incident had left them with a lot
of questions unanswered, which wasn't much to the liking of his
captain. Why would the Nazis take the corpse of the Frenchwoman
with them? Had she still been alive? Had it been planned as a
means to get a spy of their own back behind their lines? No one
knew for sure. Anyway, they had to consider each of these
possibilities. Right now, their radio operator was encoding a
message for Captain Miller who was with the local Résistance.
Their next course of action was going to be sneaking into
the German headquarters in Sainte Claire in order to look for any
traces of this morning's events and blow the communications
equipment. Sunday nights had proven to be quiet in Sainte Claire,
even in the German headquarters, so it was a perfect point of time
to do it. Plus Hauptmann Brückner would be out tonight, attending
the welcome-back-party for *Maurice Leroux*. Wasn't it ironic
that one of Catherine Leroux' friends—who was the singer of her
nightclub on top of that—had been assassinated on a day like this?
Wasn't it ironic that Davies was relieved that it had been
Séverine deNeuf who had been the *victim* of the Nazis rather
than his girlfriend? He had a bad conscience about this, especially
toward Père Goulot. The old man had tried to hide his shock and
his grief, but Davies knew nonetheless that the death of his
daughter was devastating to him. He'd discovered that it had been
Séverine rather than Brigitte, when Goulot had whispered her name
under his breath again and again. Davies thought of the letter he'd
still hidden in the pocket of his trousers, and which he'd intended to
have the contact forward to Brigitte—if it hadn't been herself.
Then he'd found the letter in the hand-cart, together with
the messages for Allied High Command. For some strange reason,
the Nazis hadn't been interested in the hand-cart at all. So what had
been their motif? Had they just wanted to kill someone without any
other reason than to quench their blood-thirst? What on Earth could
make people that cruel?
On the other hand, what—or rather who—made
coincidences like these, made him find a letter from the woman he
loved and to who he'd intended to forward a letter to as well? He
didn't really want to know if he was sincere, he was just glad that it
had happened like this. That and the important messages for the
headquarters would have made his day if it hadn't been for
Séverine's death. It left a bad after-taste lingering in his mouth.
He'd known Séverine, even if not well, but it was enough to make
him feel grief.
Bobby Davies sat up and fished around under his campbed
for his rucksack. Once he'd found it he produced his wallet. He
flipped it open and Brigitte's beautiful smile greeted him. She was
the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, the only woman who'd
had the power to make him do what he'd done the past eight years.
Long years. He loved simply everything about her face, the small
nose, her vivacious dark eyes, her sensuous full lips. He even
remembered her scent and the way it felt when he'd trace the
peculiar but beautiful ridges on her forehead from her nose up to
her hairline.
He read her letter again and wished time were passing
faster. He was aching for her so much. Tonight would be the first
time they'd see each other again. If only there were a way he could
let her know. Miller and he were to fulfill their mission in the Nazi
headquarters, then the evening would be his. His friend Miller
would certainly find a way, after all he still owed him after several
games of pool he'd lost.
To be continued ...
Cœur de Lion
By Katie
Chapter 6
Those Who Hunt for Their Needs
After the Doctor had completed the surgery and finished
repairing Seven's injuries, he convinced Ysakc that her neural
interface had to be exchanged. One of the projectiles of the
Hirogen and Nazis' Lugers had all but missed Seven's cranium.
Instead, it had hit her neural interface. To the Doctor's big surprise,
the device had been damaged only slightly, but it was enough that
he could justify an exchange.
"Is the exchange really necessary?" Ysakc demanded. "To
me it seems perfectly operational." He ran one of his Hirogen
instruments over the device that was still under Seven's pale skin.
"Yes, it is," the Doctor replied sharply. "This woman is a
former Borg, as you may have noticed by now. The damage of the
interface may cause damage to her implants. I don't want to take
the risk of injuring her. I have to help people and prevent
injuries—I understand pretty well that this concept is entirely
foreign to you."
Ysakc snorted about the last remark of the hologram. "See
that you finish it soon. The Alpha is waiting."
So the Doctor had managed to exchange Seven's interface
with a contaminated one. He just hoped that the nanoprobes would
assimilate the device quickly. In regard to this, he had the same
premise as the Hirogen: to bring her back to the Holodeck as
quickly as possible. Only when she was in the artificially generated
environment would the interface be activated—as well as the
nanoprobes.
It was high time they did something. Quite a few of the
crew had often been severely injured, and their bodies needed time
to heal. Healing wasn't only a matter of surgical skill, even if as
brilliant as his, but also a matter of time. Time was something they
didn't have. As soon as the medical procedures were completed,
Ysakc would send them back to the holodecks. Several of the crew
had been brought back to Sickbay only hours—or even little—
later because wounds had opened or Ysakc's little knowledge of
how to treat humans had caused internal bleedings. The crew had
fared surprisingly well, but this wasn't a cause to take his time.
Any of them could break down any time, and maybe he wasn't
going to be able to help them. The Doctor wasn't going to have any
of his crew killed by the Hirogen.
The only thing that soothed him somewhat was the fact
that the neural interfaces circumvented the memory centers of the
victims' brains. The damage the Hirogen inflicted on the bodies
were far easier to heal than the dark spots they'd leave on the
crew's souls. He wasn't sure whether he'd be able to help them.
He'd been programmed with quite a few reports on people
traumatized by war, and as far as he knew only few of his crew
would be able to go back on duty if they were to remember what
the Hirogen had done to them. At least not without professional
help, and he knew that he was far from being a counselor.
He'd contacted Joe Carey via a bugproof channel. It was
the only way to contact him, because there was no reason for the
engineer to come to Sickbay. He filled him in on their plan. Carey
should be busy reprogramming the replicators by now. The Doctor
trusted him to having found a reasonable pretext to *repairing* the
replicators.
Shortly after that, something exceptional had happened.
Kaar himself had contacted him to fill him in on the plans he was
having with Harry, Seven and Sam. The Hirogen commandant had
obviously undergone a lobotomy, for he'd completely changed his
mind. He had told him that he was going to send the three humans
to *peaceful* scenarios. At least he'd said that he'd ordered his
people to stand down and not to kill any of the Federations. The
incident with Seven, though, didn't convince the Doctor of Kaar's
sincerity. So he pretended to trust the Hirogen, but he kept his plan
up and running behind the commandant's back. He wasn't
convinced by Kaar's sudden interest in the way of life on Voyager.
After all that had happened it was very unlikely that Kaar was
indulging in sociological studies other than those of wars. If he
were sincere, he'd have put an end to the simulations by now.
=/\=
Ever since Frank *François* Miller had joined them,
Catherine seemed somehow rested and endowed with an entirely
new strength. To Paul it was obvious that Frank was the source of
this new strength. He'd talked to Brigitte earlier and had found that
she too feared that Catherine would break apart once Frank left her.
He was American, a soldier on top of that, it was just a matter of
time that he left her. Therefore, he was deeply concerned about his
friend, but there was hardly a chance to talk to her about this.
Her new strength showed itself for the first time when Père
Goulot arrived with Noëmie at the *Cœur de Lion*. A hermit, he
never came to town, so when he appeared now with Noëmie in his
arms, all of them knew that this didn't mean anything good. Their
suspicions were born out when he told them about Séverine's
assassination. Catherine remained as cool as the lake in the woods.
As always, she had to be the calming influence, she and Paul had
to make sure that the others didn't panic. The only difference
between the two of them was that Catherine drew her strength from
Paul, who seemed to having been blessed with it by nature. Paul,
however, knew that he couldn't be the only source for her strength.
Part of it had to come from the man she loved, and he himself was
*only* her best friend. His and her calm had to rub off on the
others. It was of utmost importance now that all of them stay calm.
This didn't mean though that they had to suppress their grief or
anger or disappointment. It was just that for the sake of the
Résistance that they did not show it in public. They were too close
to their goal as though they could put it and themselves into
jeopardy.
Goulot hadn't even finished with what Noëmie had told
him earlier, when Brigitte ran for the bathroom. The others wished
they could throw up as well, getting rid of this awful thing in an
easy way. But the death of a friend never was an easy affair. After
she'd told everything she'd seen to Goulot and the American
contact, Noëmie had withdrawn herself into a protecting shell. It
was the only way for the little girl to escape the haunting
memories, the pictures of Séverine being shot that had engraved
themselves into her mind forever. Ever since Goulot had gently put
her down to sit on a chair, she hadn't made a single movement. She
kept clutching her rag doll, staring at no particular point on the
dark floorboards.
After Brigitte had returned from the bathroom, still looking
a little pale, Catherine asked her to take care of the little girl. She
deemed it a good idea, perhaps both of them would be able to calm
down. Maybe Noëmie would even wake from her apathy; but
being honest with herself, Catherine doubted that. She never gave
up hope, though. *Never say never* was an ancient saying, but to
her it was absolutely true, and to the Maquis it was the essential
point of their philosophy.
So Catherine pulled Brigitte aside by the arm, and let a
small flask glide into one of the younger woman's big pockets of
her maternity dress. Brigitte looked at her in surprise. "It's some of
the mildest cognacs I have. Give the little one a little bit of it, she'll
be able to go to sleep more easily then. But take it easy, listen!"
Catherine told her, looking at her intently. She knew that Brigitte
would never touch a drop of alcohol, let alone let a five-year-old
have some. Brigitte, however, though still shell-shocked, realized
what the Madame was having in mind, and nodded, padding the
flask through the fabric of the pocket.
"D'accord. La pauvre!" Brigitte murmured. She squeezed
Catherine's hand.
"Are you alright, honey? What about the child?" the older
woman asked in genuine concern. Brigitte was going to give birth
soon, it was only a matter of days. Brigitte forced a smile on her
face, but it never brightened the ridges on her forehead. "We'll be
okay. I'm just a little bit upset, that's all, but I guess we all are."
Catherine gathered her in a hug, feeling the baby kick her
mother when she touched her belly with hers. Tears stung her eyes.
She wanted so much to have a child but couldn't, and this young
woman who didn't want to be a mother was expecting. Why did
God do that to people?
Joe Carey didn't know how to go on like this. He took
whatever rare spare minute the Hirogen gave him to sneak into
Cargo Bay Two and work on the reprogramming of the replicators.
It was hard work, because the Hirogen were simply everywhere in
the computer core of Voyager, which made it impossible to work
undetected. Of course did he run simulations before he worked
online to make sure this would work in real life, but he was failing
again and again. Whatever he attempted, there would always be a
hole in the net that would shop him if he worked online.
Now the Irish man was sitting in the Mess Hall having his
lunch while repairing some broken conduits in a padd Ysakc had
handed him earlier. As if he hadn't anything better to do than
repairing broken padds. He chewed on his dried food from the
emergency rations and checked on the padd. It was, however, a
nice distraction, it was child's work that would help to calm his
mind for a while.
The pressure on him was immense, the hopes of all his
crewmates was burdening him. If he were to fail, the Doctor
wouldn't be able to put his plan into effect. He didn't know as to
whether the hologram had another plan up his sleeve, so he urged
himself to find a way to sneak into the replicator programs. This
was particularly difficult since the Hirogen were using this
technology very often, doing the reprogramming themselves. They
would detect any changes in the food's matrix immediately. Even
Harry Kim's subroutine wasn't much of a help. It disguised
sneaking into to replicator program, but it didn't disguise the
changes.
There had to be a way. What about the IDIC? Was it to fail
right when you needed it most? Logic, Carey, he thought, think
logically. He focused on the padd and checked on the scrolling
function. Up and down it went, fine. He pushed some other
buttons, all of them were working fine as well. What he needed
was an expert on working undercover, some kind of agent or spy,
someone who could disguise herself very well, someone who had
fooled them all—someone like Seska.
And suddenly he knew what he had to do. The secret
holonovel she'd written popped back into his mind. The captain
herself and B'Elanna had written the solution down in the logs.
Why hadn't he had the idea earlier? The solution to this was on
their very hands, and he hadn't even realized it! Quickly, with
spirits risen, he crossed the Mess Hall in a few long strides and
began to work feverishly on the computer console of the captain's
former private dining room.
He wasn't going to let his crew down. Not as long as he
was conscious of the role he played aboard this ship ...
=/\=
Kaar had changed from his Nazi uniform into the splendid
garments of medieval nobility. In fact, he'd chosen the robes a king
would wear, for in this holodeck he himself represented King
Richard Cœur de Lion. He didn't know whether it was pure
coincidence that the nightclub on the other holodeck was called the
same, but frankly, he didn't care. More pressing things were
troubling his mind right now.
Sitting in the high-backed and cushioned with crimson
velvet chair, he let his entourage wait for his sign. They were
waiting for the announcements he had to make after the talks he'd
been leading with the representative of Sultan Saladin. To them—
the holographic characters and the Federations whom he'd had had
implanted with the neural interfaces—were waiting in respectful
silence in his tent and outside. Kaar let his gaze wander over the
crowd of people. There was Harry Kim, dressed in heavy leather
boots, leggings and a long robe, his short sword and dagger were
dangling from his belt, ready to be drawn against an enemy. There
were several of what the Federations called the junior staff as well,
mostly engineers and members of the security team. From Ysakc's
reports he knew that quite a few of them had been injured severely
during the past few turns. However, none of them showed any
signs of those injuries, for Ysakc and the holographic Doctor of the
Federations had taken good care of them.
For the first time in his long and eventful life as a hunter,
Kaar was second-guessing not only himself, but also the way of his
people. In the language of their victims their name meant *Those-
who-hunt-for-their-needs*. But this name stemmed from a time
when they'd lived peacefully on a planet, earning their living by
hunting the game they needed, but nothing more. Not unlike the
ancestors of the Federations, their history had soon grown more
and more violent. Other than their prey though, the Hirogen had
never managed to make peace with each other and later with the
Off-Worlders. The ability to survive and to make peace was
something of which he envied these people. They were able to
solve conflicts—even if not always in a peaceful way—but at least
they tried. His people, instead, had gone far beyond the point
of no return. Now they couldn't live without the thrill of the battle
or rather without the thrill they experienced whenever they killed
their innocent and often defenseless prey. Their deaths meant the
Hirogen's survival. But how long could they go on like this? Their
sects were roaming the entire sector, going farther each turn in the
search for prey. They were weak, even though they had powerful
weapons. Once they didn't find prey any more, they were to die.
Unless they found a way to quench their blood-thirst in
another way. Their scientists had researched their problem. This
was entirely a matter of hormones, but there wasn't a drug to be
found that could cure them all and let them live as the peaceful
people they'd once been.
This had been long ago and people had given up on finding
an elegant solution. Their culture had decayed, their writings had
been lost and destroyed on purpose, and their artists had exchanged
their brushes and crayons for weapons. Most of his people even
had forgotten about their heritage. Kaar was one of the few who
still remembered.
Kaar also was one of the few who didn't only search for
new prey, but for a cure for his people as well.
Now he seemed to have found it. A people who didn't even
belong to this sector, who had been sent here against their will
were having the cure his people needed so badly. And what was he
doing? He wanted to get it by force, take it without asking first. He
hated himself for this, but what could he do? Looking for a cure
was illegal, being different was illegal. The only thing he could do
was awaken his men's curiosity for the way of the Federations.
Until now, this plan had backfired though. Instead of waking their
curiosity he'd added oil to the fire and made them even more blood
thirsty.
Yet the ways of these people was so fascinating. He'd
gotten to know them very well by means of the war scenarios of
their history he'd been running on the holodecks. One thing had
fascinated him more than anything else: the Federations' way of
reproduction. In the course of his observations he'd studied several
couples who had mated in the holodecks. From the research he'd
done in their databases, he knew everything about this in theory.
When he'd watched a mating couple for the first time, he'd deemed
it a painful business, because both the male and the female had
been moaning and crying out loud during the act. Later he found
out that these had been sounds of passion. It was a strange concept
to him that the Federations' mating wasn't bound to a particular
time of the circle, rather than to their lust, and that they were doing
it mainly to enjoy themselves rather than to really reproduce. He'd
also observed mating couples who were having the same sex—a
totally strange concept to him. Kaar found out about *love* in the
database. He was surprised as to how much information there was
stored about this concept. He remembered that once there had been
a similar concept with the Hirogen, but this had been ages ago,
now their reproducing depended solely on the need for hunters. His
latest couple of guinea pigs had been the Captain and the First
Officer of Voyager. He realized that there had to be something they
called *chemistry*--which also was a science to them, no wonder
given the mass of information he'd found on *love* in the
computer—something the two humans were sharing, according to
their and others' log entries. Kaar was doing them so much harm,
taking so much that he wanted to give back something as well.
Being a matchmaker wasn't what he'd intended to do aboard this
ship in the first place, but to him it was harmless and a way to say
he was sorry for the way of his people.
Kaar's gaze kept wandering over the faces of the crowd
who were watching him expectantly, some of them were shifting
their weight from one foot to the other to vent their discomfort.
The sun was scorching hot, not a single breeze was stirring the
pennants. At least, the long awaited messenger from Saladin had
brought them some news.
It was high time something happened.
Kaar produced a padd he'd hidden in his sleeve and cast a
controlling glance at the display. The engineer who'd taken Harry
Kim's place after the latter had become Harold the Voyager from
Cymru was busy fiddling with the replicator programs again. The
Hirogen didn't know what the Human had in mind, but it seemed as
though his latest attempt in changing the food matrix had been
successful. Not for a single moment did Kaar doubt that this was
about freeing his fellow crew from the grip of the neural interface.
A smile tugged at Kaar's thin reptile lips. Something was
happening, at last. He wasn't going to stop the engineer. He was
just proving once more that the Federations never gave up finding
a solution. Sometimes you simply had to punch your way through.
Kaar rose from his chair and prepared himself to make his
long awaited announcements.
=/\=
Noëmie did anything she was told. The shock she'd
experienced when witnessing Séverine's assassination was holding
her innocent child's mind in a tight grip, so that the only way to
escape the haunting pictures was retreating into a protecting shell.
She still trusted, however, those people who meant her good.
Catherine and Brigitte and Jean certainly were among them, but
she couldn't tell them what she'd seen in the woods. It cost her
enough strength to remain in reality as far as to do what she was
told. Noëmie hadn't sacrificed her will for the sake of her sanity, it
was just so much easier then. Besides, Brigitte meant her good, she
wanted to help her, so why object?
So she didn't turn a hair when the golden liquid Brigitte
had given her to drink was running down her throat in a stream of
burning heat. The pain wasn't uncomfortable, on the contrary, it
distracted her. To the little girl's surprise the liquid left a strange
velvety feeling on her tongue. She wondered why something that
tasted so bad actually could turn her tongue into velvet, spread a
warm feeling in her stomach and make her lightheaded. Noëmie
couldn't remember a time when she'd felt better. She smiled at
Brigitte who was looking worriedly at her. The woman was
holding her tight in an embrace, as tight as possible. There was a
baby inside her rounded belly, Brigitte had told her that months
ago. She'd allowed her to touch her belly and feel the baby inside
as often as she wanted. It always sent a funny feeling through her
small body, a feeling that was almost as pleasant as the one the
golden liquid evoked in her. The mixture of both was even better,
and so she closed her eyes to enjoy the sleepiness that covered her
with a warm blanket.
Brigitte let out a sigh of relief when she recognized that
sleep had found the little girl so quickly. She didn't know whether
this was due to the cognac or anything else, she was just glad.
Noëmie's small hand glided down her belly when her little body
relaxed in her sleep, so Brigitte covered her hand with hers and let
her child feel the warmth of their hands.
She was still devastated from the news Père Goulot had
brought them earlier this afternoon. The news had left her shell-
shocked, because Séverine had been a difficult but dear friend to
her. So she could only imagine how much pain was wracking
Goulot right now. Séverine had always been the daughter he'd
never had. Maybe this had been due to the fact that both of them
had rather difficult characters, Brigitte didn't know. The only thing
she knew was that nothing and no one would ever be able to ease
his pain. If only she were able to show how passionate she was
about his loss. This was more important to her than the fact that
with Séverine's death her last chance to contact Bobby had also
died. He would never get her letter, their relationship was finally
and irretrievably over now. She hadn't put much hope in that letter
of hers anyway, so why bother? Bobby wouldn't want a French girl
with a Kraut's bastard as his wife.
=/\=
Davies had briefed his captain on the incident in the
woods, and now was lying on the campbed in the tent he was
sharing with three other men. The incident had left them with a lot
of questions unanswered, which wasn't much to the liking of his
captain. Why would the Nazis take the corpse of the Frenchwoman
with them? Had she still been alive? Had it been planned as a
means to get a spy of their own back behind their lines? No one
knew for sure. Anyway, they had to consider each of these
possibilities. Right now, their radio operator was encoding a
message for Captain Miller who was with the local Résistance.
Their next course of action was going to be sneaking into
the German headquarters in Sainte Claire in order to look for any
traces of this morning's events and blow the communications
equipment. Sunday nights had proven to be quiet in Sainte Claire,
even in the German headquarters, so it was a perfect point of time
to do it. Plus Hauptmann Brückner would be out tonight, attending
the welcome-back-party for *Maurice Leroux*. Wasn't it ironic
that one of Catherine Leroux' friends—who was the singer of her
nightclub on top of that—had been assassinated on a day like this?
Wasn't it ironic that Davies was relieved that it had been
Séverine deNeuf who had been the *victim* of the Nazis rather
than his girlfriend? He had a bad conscience about this, especially
toward Père Goulot. The old man had tried to hide his shock and
his grief, but Davies knew nonetheless that the death of his
daughter was devastating to him. He'd discovered that it had been
Séverine rather than Brigitte, when Goulot had whispered her name
under his breath again and again. Davies thought of the letter he'd
still hidden in the pocket of his trousers, and which he'd intended to
have the contact forward to Brigitte—if it hadn't been herself.
Then he'd found the letter in the hand-cart, together with
the messages for Allied High Command. For some strange reason,
the Nazis hadn't been interested in the hand-cart at all. So what had
been their motif? Had they just wanted to kill someone without any
other reason than to quench their blood-thirst? What on Earth could
make people that cruel?
On the other hand, what—or rather who—made
coincidences like these, made him find a letter from the woman he
loved and to who he'd intended to forward a letter to as well? He
didn't really want to know if he was sincere, he was just glad that it
had happened like this. That and the important messages for the
headquarters would have made his day if it hadn't been for
Séverine's death. It left a bad after-taste lingering in his mouth.
He'd known Séverine, even if not well, but it was enough to make
him feel grief.
Bobby Davies sat up and fished around under his campbed
for his rucksack. Once he'd found it he produced his wallet. He
flipped it open and Brigitte's beautiful smile greeted him. She was
the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, the only woman who'd
had the power to make him do what he'd done the past eight years.
Long years. He loved simply everything about her face, the small
nose, her vivacious dark eyes, her sensuous full lips. He even
remembered her scent and the way it felt when he'd trace the
peculiar but beautiful ridges on her forehead from her nose up to
her hairline.
He read her letter again and wished time were passing
faster. He was aching for her so much. Tonight would be the first
time they'd see each other again. If only there were a way he could
let her know. Miller and he were to fulfill their mission in the Nazi
headquarters, then the evening would be his. His friend Miller
would certainly find a way, after all he still owed him after several
games of pool he'd lost.
To be continued ...