Disclaimer: see part 1
Cœur de Lion
by Katie
Chapter 9
Ladies Lionheart
Kaar studied the padd Ysakc had handed him with great interest. Its contents were the first pieces of data his doctor had collected on the child Naomi Wildman and her reaction to the switching off of her neural interface. He should have expected this, so he scolded himself for his incorrect assumptions. Growing up on this vessel, the child was used to holodecks of course, and the way they were used by the adults. So there was of course little divergence of her brain patterns and adrenaline levels, and whatever else the Federations gauged of the bodily functions.
The Hirogen leader had been disappointed of both the data and himself in the beginning, but when he watched the audiovisual recording of the scene that had taken place in the Holodeck earlier, he was content to learn that the emotional stress had taken the best of the little girl, and that she had thrown herself into the arms of her mother. The reaction of the three females had been quite interesting then, they'd ascribed the-from their point of view-strange behavior of the child to the emotional stress of her having witnessed the assassination of Séverine. Since Noëmie had come into this simulation as a war orphan, the females had deemed it best that the girl be adopted by the new singer of the *Cœur de Lion*-at least for the time being.
"We should have anticipated a reaction like this," Kaar eventually said to Ysakc. "The Federations are very socially oriented. Even if we can manipulate their memories and identities, we can neither manipulate their education nor their moral values."
Ysakc accepted the padd Kaar was handing him back. "I am sorry that you are disappointed. However, it was and still is an excellent way to research into the function of the neural interfaces."
Kaar nodded. "You are right. Frankly, I was thinking of putting this to an end within the next few hours, but now I want to keep this up until 1800 hours ship's time tomorrow."
Ysakc nodded. He had thought of asking for more time, but since he knew that the other Hirogen were developing nervous trigger fingers, he hadn't dared. For a second or so he wanted to make sure that the Alpha knew about the rumors of mutiny among his people, but discarded the thought. If Kaar deemed another day for their research safe, then it meant that the situation was secure. Ysakc didn't want to put his position into jeopardy by second-guessing his commandant. "Very well, Kaar."
The doctor had turned on the heel of his heavy boots, when Kaar called after him: "Ysakc ... please arrange a *malfunction* of the audiovisual recordings. We can very well use the energy from them for enhancing the function of the holo-emitters, can't we?"
Ysakc turned his head, so Kaar could see him nod. "Of course. I'll have the engineer arrange it."
=/\=
The latest decision of Kaar wasn't very popular with Sarpa. His nickname was Tarench, which meant *Ruthless Hunter* in the Federations' standard tongue, and ever since they'd come aboard this vessel, he hadn't had the chance to live up to it. Of course had he hunted those Federations down, but since they were to be taken to sickbay to be resuscitated and patched up, the fun in it was taken away. This was-in his point of view-cheating, and if the Alpha could cheat them, he could do so as well.
They were supposed not to know about the plans of the Résistance in the World War II scenario. Sarpa Tarench didn't care much about it. He wanted to kill, really kill, and was looking for a good pretext to do so. It wasn't that he and the others couldn't just walk in and kill Kaar first and then do with their prey whatever they pleased. He wanted to turn the tables and play a little game with Kaar himself.
Part of this plan was spying on the Federations. He pushed the play-button again and listened to the conversation Catherine had had with Paul earlier. They'd gone through the details of their act of sabotage very minutely. Seven of Nine was forgotten for the time being, he would get her anyway, so why not save the best for last?
Ruthless Hunter's armadillo face was looking more and more vicious by the minute.
=/\=
Sam had managed to pull her little daughter into a silent corner of the *Cœur de Lion*, and with it out of earshot of the Captain and Chief Engineer. Their neural interfaces were still operating, and if their plan should work out, she had to avoid raising any suspicion.
She had pulled Naomi into a tight bear hug until the girl had calmed down. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much this entire business was puzzling her daughter. What was strange, though, was that Naomi's connection to the influence of the neural interface had been severed earlier than the others'. Joe had finished his job only a few minutes ago, as far as she knew, and Naomi hadn't eaten anything in this time. What were those Hirogen up to now, then? It must have been them, Sam was sure of it.
"Momma, please, I don't want to play this game any longer," Naomi whispered into her ear. Her breath was tickling her ear as she spoke, so Sam pulled out of the embrace and looked at her daughter. She didn't seem to have suffered, at least not after she had become Naomi once again. As far as she knew did the neural interfaces not influence their genuine memories.
"I know, honey. But I'm afraid we can't stop playing now. It would be cheating, and you wouldn't want to disappoint me, now would you?" Sam told her. She glanced over the shoulder of her daughter to make sure they were still having the privacy they needed. Catherine had left, and Brigitte was busy writing today's menu on a blackboard that was hanging on the wall next to Claude's piano. At least the chalk didn't squeak.
"No," Naomi answered somewhat meekly.
"Oh, Naomi," Sam sighed and hugged her again. What should she do with the girl in a nightclub? She could hardly send her outside to play on her own. She almost jumped when she heard Neelix' voice from a little distance.
"Pardon ... eh scusi ...," he stammered, not knowing in what language to talk to her. When Naomi recognized him, it was all Sam could do to stop her from jumping up and running to him. "Honey, Uncle Neelix is called Jean in this game. Remember being the nice girl you are, will you?" she whispered into her ear. Naomi was still puzzled, but this entire business seemed to be so important to her mother that she wanted to do what she was told. "Yes."
"Sì?" Sam asked, glad she'd learned Italian when she'd been offered the chance to do so.
"I ... um, wanted to know if everything was all right? Va bene?" he asked.
Sam smiled softly. "Sì, grazie. I ... you take care per mia figlia?" She wasn't quite sure whether her actor's skill was still as good as it had been at school, but obviously it was convincingly enough. Poor Neelix nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course I will," he said, offering Naomi his hand. "Allons Noëmie, I think I have a sweet little something for you in the kitchen. Sounds good?"
"Oh yes!" Trusting, Naomi's tiny hand vanished in Neelix' big one. Before they went off to the kitchen, Naomi waved at her mother.
=/\=
At dusk a soft wind would rise from the sea and gently blow inland. With it came the big relief from the oppressive afternoon heat, and the crusaders' camp awoke to a new life. Their waiting had paid off. Soon after Harold had returned from the main plaza in front of the King's tent, messengers had reported a first success of the mediation between the Knights of St. John and Saladin's negotiators.
Everywhere in the camp preparations for the celebrations were being made, and the mood was as casual as it hadn't been in ages. Saladin had sent them foodstuffs as a sign of his goodwill, and those were now being prepared into tasty meals over hundreds of campfires. The babble of voices was overwhelming, from here and there music and song could be heard, in most cases anything but beautiful.
Harry was glad that Harold was an important person from the immediate entourage of the King, because people were making way for him as he walked through the camp on his way to where the nuns and women had set camp. When he reached it, he sent one of the nuns after Lady Séverine. He didn't know whether it would have been appropriate for a man to enter the women's camp, so he decided to play on the safe. The elderly nun whom he had met had cast him a curious glance, but hadn't commented on his request. Her blessing she hadn't given either on this entire business. Maybe they too had lived trough too many odd things here that they'd ceased on wondering about anything. But it didn't seem as though they'd lost their faith and devotion, especially now that they were celebrating a tremendous success.
Harry sighed. At least there wasn't any fighting going on here. But he was clever enough not to let himself lull into a false sense of security, especially now that the two of them had to carry out an important part of their plan. Subconsciously he touched the spot on the side of his neck where he thought the neural interface to be. If only they'd already finished it. But this was crunch-time, wasn't it? He was always in top form during crunch-time. Everything was going to work out, particularly when working with the technically quasi infallible Seven of Nine.
"Aye, Ma'am!" he murmured to himself as an encouragement, remembering his first meeting with Kathryn Janeway. He wasn't going to let her down now. This was a question of honor.
"Here I am, Sir Harold, and I greet you," Seven suddenly said.
Harry jumped at this. Seven seemed to have appeared out of thin air. "Lady Séverine." He tried to return the greeting as nonchalantly as he could, but this was of course lost on Seven. He didn't know whom he wanted to impress with this.
*Aye, Ma'am*.
=/\=
Eventually, the time had come for Davies to go to Sainte Claire to meet the leader of the local Resistance and Captain Miller. It had been decided that he be taken to Goulot's hamlet by jeep, and then to go on by bike. Before a private came to tell him the jeep was ready to leave the camp they'd erected in the north of Lyon, he removed all evidence of his identity from his body. Most important were the two metal plates bearing his name that every soldier was obliged to wear around his neck. He dressed in dark civilian clothes so he would appear French and couldn't be seen in the darkness. The cloth pouch in which he kept the ring for Brigitte he put into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, where it was safe from falling out by , his trousers.
"Are you ready, Sir?" the private asked him through the closed flap of his tent just as he was putting the small weapon into his pocket.
Was he ready? He had to admit that he was ready to help the Maquis only half-heartedly. Most of all he wanted to look for Brigitte. But first his job had to be done. Afterwards he would have plenty of time, for he wasn't to return to his unit before it had reached Goulot's, and this advance probably wouldn't take place until the next evening. For someone who was familiar with the town, this was plenty of time if they wanted to find someone.
"I'm coming," Bobby replied, and stepped into the cooling late afternoon air. He remembered the summer he'd spent here eight years ago. It had been pretty hot then, and even now, eight years and almost one month later, it was as hot as Augusts would be. If only he could meet Brigitte under other circumstances but a war.
The ride by jeep took them a little more than one hour, and was everything but safe. From what they knew German panzer divisions were stationed in the east of the town within eleven kilometers. They had to be careful not be detected by German patrols, but as the Americans were well informed, they had timed this mission to a point at which German patrols were farthest from Goulot's place. It was on a small hill that was hardly accessible, amidst equally inaccessible wood terrain. An ideal spot, even if patrols should return early. The trip from the hamlet to town by bike wood be smooth, though, since a great deal of the people there bought their coal from Goulot. The ride wouldn't take more than maybe fifteen minutes.
Every step of their plan went well. When he arrived at Sainte Claire, he was even a little early. The milky panes of the *Cœur de Lion* were brightly illuminated, and from what Bobby could see and hear from outsides, there were quite a few people in the nightclub. He hadn't ran into any Germans in the town, so his mission was going to be easier, and above all accomplished all the quicker. The American's spirits rose.
When he entered the nightclub, he found his suspicions true. There were even more Germans present than he'd anticipated. It was still early in the evening, the sun had only begun to set, but the atmosphere was already the best a nightclub owner could wish for. A man was entertaining the people by playing piano, and the conversations of the French and Germans filled the room with a low murmur of voices which was punctuated by laughter, the clinging of glasses and the popping of corks every now and then. All in all people were enjoying themselves.
Bobby made his way to the bar where he recognized Paul immediately. They hadn't met personally yet, but the fact that the bartender was of African descent made it obvious who he was. The American in disguise sat on the last unoccupied stools and waited for Paul to tend to him. The bartender would recognize him by the order he was going to make. But until then, he let his eyes wander over the crowd in the room. The pianist was playing dance music, and a few people remained in their seats, tapping their fingers or feet to the rhythm of the music. Most of the people were dancing in the space that had been cleared of tables in the center of the room.
The music stopped with an accord introducing a woman dressed in a long black dress whose spaghetti straps revealed a most lovely décolletage and shoulders. If it hadn't been for the daring slit at the left side of the dress, the woman's shapely legs would have remained hidden. Several admiring whistles were piercing the drifts of smoke. A man was following the woman, dressed in a tuxedo-just that he had discarded his jacket earlier. Bobby recognized him immediately-it was Captain Frank Miller.
"Mesdames et Messieurs, meine Herren, welcome to the *Cœur de Lion*," the breathtakingly beautiful woman greeted her guests. Bobby, who had a good view from his elevated seat on the stool, noticed that Miller's hand had found its way into the woman's hand. He was about to raise an eyebrow at this, when a voice distracted him.
"Bon soir, what can I do for you, Monsieur?" When Bobby turned his head in the direction of the voice, he noticed Paul.
"I'd like some Calvados, s'il vous plaît," Bobby ordered in a French that was almost free of any American accent. He'd always had *an ear* for foreign languages which enabled him to speak almost without any accent. If Paul was impressed by this, he managed to let it show only by a raised eyebrow. He nodded.
Meanwhile, the woman-whom Bobby knew to be Catherine Leroux, the owner of the *Cœur de Lion*-had continued her little speech. "I'm so glad to tell you that finally my beloved husband has returned from his voyage-and quite alive as I'd like to say." People laughed at this. Everyone knew that François Leroux-the real one, at least-was presumed dead. It was amazing that the two men looked so much alike that everyone who knew him obviously bought their story. "Tonight, we will celebrate his return. I'd like to thank you for the support you've given me during the long time of his absence. So the first round is with my compliments to you-on one condition: You leave the war outsides," she added in a low, almost husky voice. This seemed to be a running gag because everybody laughed at this. Catherine raised her arms to get their attention once more. Bobby knew why. She wanted to introduce their new singer, since Séverine deNeuf had suddenly left them. "Please enjoy the voice of Signorina Sabina from Italy!"
The Signorina was cute, but not as beautiful as people said Séverine had been. She had a nice voice, and after she'd sung the first stanza of the song "Would it Be Wrong", people resumed their conversations. Bobby's eyes continued scanning the room, and in one corner he noticed the Nazis sitting, enjoying themselves.
When Paul served him his drink along with a bowl of green grapes, Catherine let go of Miller's hand and came over to the bar. So this was her partner in crime.
"Bon soir, Monsieur," she greeted him.
"Madame." Bobby rose and kissed the proffered back of her hand. Standing so close to him, Catherine looked even more beautiful. Bobby had a hard time remembering whether she had looked so gorgeous eight years ago, but decided not to think about it more than necessary.
"I haven't seen you in a while. How are things going in Dijon?" she started small talk, popping a green grape into her mouth. Miller joined them and put his arms around her waist. Bobby wasn't blind. The two of them were acting too good as a reunited couple. He was sure there was more to their relationship.
"It's pretty much the same, Catherine, nothing interesting," Bobby answered. "I'm glad you're back, François."
"Me too," Miller smiled, kissing Catherine's temple.
*One can see that,* Bobby commented silently. "If you'll excuse me, please. The ride down from Dijon has been quite dusty," Bobby said instead, and once again rose from his stool, this time to head for the gents' room.
"Mais bien sûr. Enjoy the evening," Catherine smiled at him as he left for the back of the nightclub. The two of them resumed their flirting, wandered from table to table to talk to friends, until Catherine felt the time ripe for following her contact. An instant later, Jean asked Miller to come to the kitchen and try the marinade for one of his salads.
Sarpa looked at his friends and nodded. One after another, they got up and left the *Cœur de Lion*.
=/\=
"I'll begin the story of Antiochus, the wicked King, and of Apollonius the Tyran Prince," Gaucelm Faidit, the troubadour of Richard, announced in his deep voice. Normally, it wasn't a troubadour's job to tell a story, but there was no one in the crusader's camp who could tell a story better than him. Richard and his entourage were sitting around a table beneath an awning, enjoying the best meal and drink in a long time. Faidit was walking around their table, looking from one to the other as he passed his audience.
"There lived a King in the city of Antioch named Antiochus. The city was named after this King. The Queen of this King had passed away, and she had left behind a most beautiful daughter. When she had reached the age to be married, many a famous man desired her and gave her expensive presents ..."
Harry stopped listening to the story soon. There were more pressing needs that had to be taken care of. Besides, he already knew the story of Apollonius of Tyre. He'd read the ancient novel after he'd learned about it at school. Of course the teacher hadn't read it with them, because it was written in Old-English and thus a little difficult to understand. There were translations into modern English and Federation Standard of course, but ... one never knew what teachers were up to when it came to selecting literature for class.
So he excused himself after having shot Seven a glance. She was sitting next to him at the table. Her natural Borg aura of annoyance was most suitable for this occasion. Although usually annoying to Harry, he was now glad for this character trait of hers. When she recognized his glance, she turned her head and nodded. The hint of a smile was playing about the corners of her mouth. Harry whispered to her that there was a falcon with an injured wing that he had to look after. It was good enough a reason for him to leave the banquet early without raising the Alpha Hirogen's suspicion. Now that his neural interface was deactivated, it was hard enough to play Harold's role as if nothing had happened.
Minutes later, he met Seven at the arranged place. He didn't know the reason why she had left the banquet, but he was gentleman enough not to ask. Frankly, he didn't want to know it. Who knew what she'd told the others. Before he'd come here, he'd really looked after the falcons, but since he had no idea whatsoever how to deal with the animals, he'd left soon, in case he was being watched. Which he doubted, for everybody was enjoying the story Gaucelm was telling. He could hear his rich voice even here.
"Are you ready?" Harry softly said when Seven was standing in front of him. She looked good-gorgeous-in the long burgundy-colored gown with the rich embroidery at the seams. Her hair was piled up in a most complicated way, and she was holding her head even more proudly than usual, as if her hairdo were a crown. The Borg implants above her eye and at the ear were reflecting the last of the setting sun's blood-red rays.
"Yes," she nodded, and was about to walk towards the tent of the English King, when Harry caught her by the arm. She turned on her heel in one swift motion and looked at him with her icy blue eyes.
"Seven ...," Harry began, "this is not the way Ladies walked in the Middle Ages." She bent her head ever so slightly which indicated that she wanted him to explain himself. Instead of this, he took her hand and put it on the back of his hand, which he held in midair. She looked skeptically at him, but since she deemed it only logical to behave like people used to in those days long past in order not to be discovered, she did what he wanted her to do.
"Now, you take small steps, say, two at one of mine, okay?" Harry instructed her. Seven nodded slowly. Her brow almost knitted with concentration when she strode next to him.
Harry hardly could help smiling.
To be continued ...
Cœur de Lion
by Katie
Chapter 9
Ladies Lionheart
Kaar studied the padd Ysakc had handed him with great interest. Its contents were the first pieces of data his doctor had collected on the child Naomi Wildman and her reaction to the switching off of her neural interface. He should have expected this, so he scolded himself for his incorrect assumptions. Growing up on this vessel, the child was used to holodecks of course, and the way they were used by the adults. So there was of course little divergence of her brain patterns and adrenaline levels, and whatever else the Federations gauged of the bodily functions.
The Hirogen leader had been disappointed of both the data and himself in the beginning, but when he watched the audiovisual recording of the scene that had taken place in the Holodeck earlier, he was content to learn that the emotional stress had taken the best of the little girl, and that she had thrown herself into the arms of her mother. The reaction of the three females had been quite interesting then, they'd ascribed the-from their point of view-strange behavior of the child to the emotional stress of her having witnessed the assassination of Séverine. Since Noëmie had come into this simulation as a war orphan, the females had deemed it best that the girl be adopted by the new singer of the *Cœur de Lion*-at least for the time being.
"We should have anticipated a reaction like this," Kaar eventually said to Ysakc. "The Federations are very socially oriented. Even if we can manipulate their memories and identities, we can neither manipulate their education nor their moral values."
Ysakc accepted the padd Kaar was handing him back. "I am sorry that you are disappointed. However, it was and still is an excellent way to research into the function of the neural interfaces."
Kaar nodded. "You are right. Frankly, I was thinking of putting this to an end within the next few hours, but now I want to keep this up until 1800 hours ship's time tomorrow."
Ysakc nodded. He had thought of asking for more time, but since he knew that the other Hirogen were developing nervous trigger fingers, he hadn't dared. For a second or so he wanted to make sure that the Alpha knew about the rumors of mutiny among his people, but discarded the thought. If Kaar deemed another day for their research safe, then it meant that the situation was secure. Ysakc didn't want to put his position into jeopardy by second-guessing his commandant. "Very well, Kaar."
The doctor had turned on the heel of his heavy boots, when Kaar called after him: "Ysakc ... please arrange a *malfunction* of the audiovisual recordings. We can very well use the energy from them for enhancing the function of the holo-emitters, can't we?"
Ysakc turned his head, so Kaar could see him nod. "Of course. I'll have the engineer arrange it."
=/\=
The latest decision of Kaar wasn't very popular with Sarpa. His nickname was Tarench, which meant *Ruthless Hunter* in the Federations' standard tongue, and ever since they'd come aboard this vessel, he hadn't had the chance to live up to it. Of course had he hunted those Federations down, but since they were to be taken to sickbay to be resuscitated and patched up, the fun in it was taken away. This was-in his point of view-cheating, and if the Alpha could cheat them, he could do so as well.
They were supposed not to know about the plans of the Résistance in the World War II scenario. Sarpa Tarench didn't care much about it. He wanted to kill, really kill, and was looking for a good pretext to do so. It wasn't that he and the others couldn't just walk in and kill Kaar first and then do with their prey whatever they pleased. He wanted to turn the tables and play a little game with Kaar himself.
Part of this plan was spying on the Federations. He pushed the play-button again and listened to the conversation Catherine had had with Paul earlier. They'd gone through the details of their act of sabotage very minutely. Seven of Nine was forgotten for the time being, he would get her anyway, so why not save the best for last?
Ruthless Hunter's armadillo face was looking more and more vicious by the minute.
=/\=
Sam had managed to pull her little daughter into a silent corner of the *Cœur de Lion*, and with it out of earshot of the Captain and Chief Engineer. Their neural interfaces were still operating, and if their plan should work out, she had to avoid raising any suspicion.
She had pulled Naomi into a tight bear hug until the girl had calmed down. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much this entire business was puzzling her daughter. What was strange, though, was that Naomi's connection to the influence of the neural interface had been severed earlier than the others'. Joe had finished his job only a few minutes ago, as far as she knew, and Naomi hadn't eaten anything in this time. What were those Hirogen up to now, then? It must have been them, Sam was sure of it.
"Momma, please, I don't want to play this game any longer," Naomi whispered into her ear. Her breath was tickling her ear as she spoke, so Sam pulled out of the embrace and looked at her daughter. She didn't seem to have suffered, at least not after she had become Naomi once again. As far as she knew did the neural interfaces not influence their genuine memories.
"I know, honey. But I'm afraid we can't stop playing now. It would be cheating, and you wouldn't want to disappoint me, now would you?" Sam told her. She glanced over the shoulder of her daughter to make sure they were still having the privacy they needed. Catherine had left, and Brigitte was busy writing today's menu on a blackboard that was hanging on the wall next to Claude's piano. At least the chalk didn't squeak.
"No," Naomi answered somewhat meekly.
"Oh, Naomi," Sam sighed and hugged her again. What should she do with the girl in a nightclub? She could hardly send her outside to play on her own. She almost jumped when she heard Neelix' voice from a little distance.
"Pardon ... eh scusi ...," he stammered, not knowing in what language to talk to her. When Naomi recognized him, it was all Sam could do to stop her from jumping up and running to him. "Honey, Uncle Neelix is called Jean in this game. Remember being the nice girl you are, will you?" she whispered into her ear. Naomi was still puzzled, but this entire business seemed to be so important to her mother that she wanted to do what she was told. "Yes."
"Sì?" Sam asked, glad she'd learned Italian when she'd been offered the chance to do so.
"I ... um, wanted to know if everything was all right? Va bene?" he asked.
Sam smiled softly. "Sì, grazie. I ... you take care per mia figlia?" She wasn't quite sure whether her actor's skill was still as good as it had been at school, but obviously it was convincingly enough. Poor Neelix nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course I will," he said, offering Naomi his hand. "Allons Noëmie, I think I have a sweet little something for you in the kitchen. Sounds good?"
"Oh yes!" Trusting, Naomi's tiny hand vanished in Neelix' big one. Before they went off to the kitchen, Naomi waved at her mother.
=/\=
At dusk a soft wind would rise from the sea and gently blow inland. With it came the big relief from the oppressive afternoon heat, and the crusaders' camp awoke to a new life. Their waiting had paid off. Soon after Harold had returned from the main plaza in front of the King's tent, messengers had reported a first success of the mediation between the Knights of St. John and Saladin's negotiators.
Everywhere in the camp preparations for the celebrations were being made, and the mood was as casual as it hadn't been in ages. Saladin had sent them foodstuffs as a sign of his goodwill, and those were now being prepared into tasty meals over hundreds of campfires. The babble of voices was overwhelming, from here and there music and song could be heard, in most cases anything but beautiful.
Harry was glad that Harold was an important person from the immediate entourage of the King, because people were making way for him as he walked through the camp on his way to where the nuns and women had set camp. When he reached it, he sent one of the nuns after Lady Séverine. He didn't know whether it would have been appropriate for a man to enter the women's camp, so he decided to play on the safe. The elderly nun whom he had met had cast him a curious glance, but hadn't commented on his request. Her blessing she hadn't given either on this entire business. Maybe they too had lived trough too many odd things here that they'd ceased on wondering about anything. But it didn't seem as though they'd lost their faith and devotion, especially now that they were celebrating a tremendous success.
Harry sighed. At least there wasn't any fighting going on here. But he was clever enough not to let himself lull into a false sense of security, especially now that the two of them had to carry out an important part of their plan. Subconsciously he touched the spot on the side of his neck where he thought the neural interface to be. If only they'd already finished it. But this was crunch-time, wasn't it? He was always in top form during crunch-time. Everything was going to work out, particularly when working with the technically quasi infallible Seven of Nine.
"Aye, Ma'am!" he murmured to himself as an encouragement, remembering his first meeting with Kathryn Janeway. He wasn't going to let her down now. This was a question of honor.
"Here I am, Sir Harold, and I greet you," Seven suddenly said.
Harry jumped at this. Seven seemed to have appeared out of thin air. "Lady Séverine." He tried to return the greeting as nonchalantly as he could, but this was of course lost on Seven. He didn't know whom he wanted to impress with this.
*Aye, Ma'am*.
=/\=
Eventually, the time had come for Davies to go to Sainte Claire to meet the leader of the local Resistance and Captain Miller. It had been decided that he be taken to Goulot's hamlet by jeep, and then to go on by bike. Before a private came to tell him the jeep was ready to leave the camp they'd erected in the north of Lyon, he removed all evidence of his identity from his body. Most important were the two metal plates bearing his name that every soldier was obliged to wear around his neck. He dressed in dark civilian clothes so he would appear French and couldn't be seen in the darkness. The cloth pouch in which he kept the ring for Brigitte he put into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, where it was safe from falling out by , his trousers.
"Are you ready, Sir?" the private asked him through the closed flap of his tent just as he was putting the small weapon into his pocket.
Was he ready? He had to admit that he was ready to help the Maquis only half-heartedly. Most of all he wanted to look for Brigitte. But first his job had to be done. Afterwards he would have plenty of time, for he wasn't to return to his unit before it had reached Goulot's, and this advance probably wouldn't take place until the next evening. For someone who was familiar with the town, this was plenty of time if they wanted to find someone.
"I'm coming," Bobby replied, and stepped into the cooling late afternoon air. He remembered the summer he'd spent here eight years ago. It had been pretty hot then, and even now, eight years and almost one month later, it was as hot as Augusts would be. If only he could meet Brigitte under other circumstances but a war.
The ride by jeep took them a little more than one hour, and was everything but safe. From what they knew German panzer divisions were stationed in the east of the town within eleven kilometers. They had to be careful not be detected by German patrols, but as the Americans were well informed, they had timed this mission to a point at which German patrols were farthest from Goulot's place. It was on a small hill that was hardly accessible, amidst equally inaccessible wood terrain. An ideal spot, even if patrols should return early. The trip from the hamlet to town by bike wood be smooth, though, since a great deal of the people there bought their coal from Goulot. The ride wouldn't take more than maybe fifteen minutes.
Every step of their plan went well. When he arrived at Sainte Claire, he was even a little early. The milky panes of the *Cœur de Lion* were brightly illuminated, and from what Bobby could see and hear from outsides, there were quite a few people in the nightclub. He hadn't ran into any Germans in the town, so his mission was going to be easier, and above all accomplished all the quicker. The American's spirits rose.
When he entered the nightclub, he found his suspicions true. There were even more Germans present than he'd anticipated. It was still early in the evening, the sun had only begun to set, but the atmosphere was already the best a nightclub owner could wish for. A man was entertaining the people by playing piano, and the conversations of the French and Germans filled the room with a low murmur of voices which was punctuated by laughter, the clinging of glasses and the popping of corks every now and then. All in all people were enjoying themselves.
Bobby made his way to the bar where he recognized Paul immediately. They hadn't met personally yet, but the fact that the bartender was of African descent made it obvious who he was. The American in disguise sat on the last unoccupied stools and waited for Paul to tend to him. The bartender would recognize him by the order he was going to make. But until then, he let his eyes wander over the crowd in the room. The pianist was playing dance music, and a few people remained in their seats, tapping their fingers or feet to the rhythm of the music. Most of the people were dancing in the space that had been cleared of tables in the center of the room.
The music stopped with an accord introducing a woman dressed in a long black dress whose spaghetti straps revealed a most lovely décolletage and shoulders. If it hadn't been for the daring slit at the left side of the dress, the woman's shapely legs would have remained hidden. Several admiring whistles were piercing the drifts of smoke. A man was following the woman, dressed in a tuxedo-just that he had discarded his jacket earlier. Bobby recognized him immediately-it was Captain Frank Miller.
"Mesdames et Messieurs, meine Herren, welcome to the *Cœur de Lion*," the breathtakingly beautiful woman greeted her guests. Bobby, who had a good view from his elevated seat on the stool, noticed that Miller's hand had found its way into the woman's hand. He was about to raise an eyebrow at this, when a voice distracted him.
"Bon soir, what can I do for you, Monsieur?" When Bobby turned his head in the direction of the voice, he noticed Paul.
"I'd like some Calvados, s'il vous plaît," Bobby ordered in a French that was almost free of any American accent. He'd always had *an ear* for foreign languages which enabled him to speak almost without any accent. If Paul was impressed by this, he managed to let it show only by a raised eyebrow. He nodded.
Meanwhile, the woman-whom Bobby knew to be Catherine Leroux, the owner of the *Cœur de Lion*-had continued her little speech. "I'm so glad to tell you that finally my beloved husband has returned from his voyage-and quite alive as I'd like to say." People laughed at this. Everyone knew that François Leroux-the real one, at least-was presumed dead. It was amazing that the two men looked so much alike that everyone who knew him obviously bought their story. "Tonight, we will celebrate his return. I'd like to thank you for the support you've given me during the long time of his absence. So the first round is with my compliments to you-on one condition: You leave the war outsides," she added in a low, almost husky voice. This seemed to be a running gag because everybody laughed at this. Catherine raised her arms to get their attention once more. Bobby knew why. She wanted to introduce their new singer, since Séverine deNeuf had suddenly left them. "Please enjoy the voice of Signorina Sabina from Italy!"
The Signorina was cute, but not as beautiful as people said Séverine had been. She had a nice voice, and after she'd sung the first stanza of the song "Would it Be Wrong", people resumed their conversations. Bobby's eyes continued scanning the room, and in one corner he noticed the Nazis sitting, enjoying themselves.
When Paul served him his drink along with a bowl of green grapes, Catherine let go of Miller's hand and came over to the bar. So this was her partner in crime.
"Bon soir, Monsieur," she greeted him.
"Madame." Bobby rose and kissed the proffered back of her hand. Standing so close to him, Catherine looked even more beautiful. Bobby had a hard time remembering whether she had looked so gorgeous eight years ago, but decided not to think about it more than necessary.
"I haven't seen you in a while. How are things going in Dijon?" she started small talk, popping a green grape into her mouth. Miller joined them and put his arms around her waist. Bobby wasn't blind. The two of them were acting too good as a reunited couple. He was sure there was more to their relationship.
"It's pretty much the same, Catherine, nothing interesting," Bobby answered. "I'm glad you're back, François."
"Me too," Miller smiled, kissing Catherine's temple.
*One can see that,* Bobby commented silently. "If you'll excuse me, please. The ride down from Dijon has been quite dusty," Bobby said instead, and once again rose from his stool, this time to head for the gents' room.
"Mais bien sûr. Enjoy the evening," Catherine smiled at him as he left for the back of the nightclub. The two of them resumed their flirting, wandered from table to table to talk to friends, until Catherine felt the time ripe for following her contact. An instant later, Jean asked Miller to come to the kitchen and try the marinade for one of his salads.
Sarpa looked at his friends and nodded. One after another, they got up and left the *Cœur de Lion*.
=/\=
"I'll begin the story of Antiochus, the wicked King, and of Apollonius the Tyran Prince," Gaucelm Faidit, the troubadour of Richard, announced in his deep voice. Normally, it wasn't a troubadour's job to tell a story, but there was no one in the crusader's camp who could tell a story better than him. Richard and his entourage were sitting around a table beneath an awning, enjoying the best meal and drink in a long time. Faidit was walking around their table, looking from one to the other as he passed his audience.
"There lived a King in the city of Antioch named Antiochus. The city was named after this King. The Queen of this King had passed away, and she had left behind a most beautiful daughter. When she had reached the age to be married, many a famous man desired her and gave her expensive presents ..."
Harry stopped listening to the story soon. There were more pressing needs that had to be taken care of. Besides, he already knew the story of Apollonius of Tyre. He'd read the ancient novel after he'd learned about it at school. Of course the teacher hadn't read it with them, because it was written in Old-English and thus a little difficult to understand. There were translations into modern English and Federation Standard of course, but ... one never knew what teachers were up to when it came to selecting literature for class.
So he excused himself after having shot Seven a glance. She was sitting next to him at the table. Her natural Borg aura of annoyance was most suitable for this occasion. Although usually annoying to Harry, he was now glad for this character trait of hers. When she recognized his glance, she turned her head and nodded. The hint of a smile was playing about the corners of her mouth. Harry whispered to her that there was a falcon with an injured wing that he had to look after. It was good enough a reason for him to leave the banquet early without raising the Alpha Hirogen's suspicion. Now that his neural interface was deactivated, it was hard enough to play Harold's role as if nothing had happened.
Minutes later, he met Seven at the arranged place. He didn't know the reason why she had left the banquet, but he was gentleman enough not to ask. Frankly, he didn't want to know it. Who knew what she'd told the others. Before he'd come here, he'd really looked after the falcons, but since he had no idea whatsoever how to deal with the animals, he'd left soon, in case he was being watched. Which he doubted, for everybody was enjoying the story Gaucelm was telling. He could hear his rich voice even here.
"Are you ready?" Harry softly said when Seven was standing in front of him. She looked good-gorgeous-in the long burgundy-colored gown with the rich embroidery at the seams. Her hair was piled up in a most complicated way, and she was holding her head even more proudly than usual, as if her hairdo were a crown. The Borg implants above her eye and at the ear were reflecting the last of the setting sun's blood-red rays.
"Yes," she nodded, and was about to walk towards the tent of the English King, when Harry caught her by the arm. She turned on her heel in one swift motion and looked at him with her icy blue eyes.
"Seven ...," Harry began, "this is not the way Ladies walked in the Middle Ages." She bent her head ever so slightly which indicated that she wanted him to explain himself. Instead of this, he took her hand and put it on the back of his hand, which he held in midair. She looked skeptically at him, but since she deemed it only logical to behave like people used to in those days long past in order not to be discovered, she did what he wanted her to do.
"Now, you take small steps, say, two at one of mine, okay?" Harry instructed her. Seven nodded slowly. Her brow almost knitted with concentration when she strode next to him.
Harry hardly could help smiling.
To be continued ...