Disclaimer: See Part 1
Cœur de Lion
By Katie
Chapter 10
Maquis
They met in the back of the *Cœur de Lion*. Bobby
noticed with a hint of disappointment that Catherine had changed
from her gown into a pair of black trousers and a dark brown
blouse with little white flowers printed on it. When she descended
the stairs, she was checking the ammunition of a gun. After she'd
made sure that everything was all right with the weapon, she let it
slide into the pocket of her trousers. Bobby cast her a surprised
glance.
"I'll accompany you, Mr Davies," Catherine told him.
Bobby smiled nervously. "I took it either Captain Miller or
the leader of the local Résistance would accompany me," he
explained, relaxing and leaning against the handrail of the stairs.
From the kitchen they could hear the clattering around of Jean.
From the bar the sound of well-entertained people and Sabina's
voice were flooding through the hall towards them.
Catherine smiled her amused half-smile. "I am the leader
of the local Résistance."
Bobby was so surprised that he didn't know what to say.
Normally, he was very quick with his answers, whatever the
comment or question was, but this really caught him off-guard. He
had never thought about a woman being the leader of the local
Résistance, even in his wildest dreams—but they were dealing with
another woman these days anyway.
The Madame put her finger under his chin and made him
close his mouth again. "You're not the first, mon ami. Now, I
suggest you overcome your shock so we can get started."
"Just a moment!" Miller chimed in. He was coming from
the kitchen, still licking his lips. The vinaigrette Jean had made for
the lamb's lettuce was delicious. "Davies, you take good care of
her, is this understood?"
"Of course, Sir," Bobby assured him, all-dutiful at once.
Their mission was important, plus he knew that Miller was not the
kidding type of man in situations like these. Boy, he'd really gotten
it bad. But who was he to talk?
Miller hesitated for a second after he'd turned at Catherine.
He caught her in a tight embrace, kissing her good-bye
passionately. Bobby, who now got to know a new side of the
Captain, suddenly found the pattern of the carpet that covered the
stairs very interesting. But he couldn't help listening to what they
said.
"Take good care, will ya, love?" Miller whispered. He
didn't expect her to answer, so he kissed her briefly, and finally
pulled free from their embrace. He watched the two of them leave
through the back door. Only when he turned around to go back to
his guests did he realize that he was holding his fingers crossed for
them. Angrily, he opened his hands, scolding himself for this
superstitious gesture. Both Catherine and Davies were experts in
this matter, so why worry. And yet ...
=/\=
"Computer, run a simulation on medical maneuver 359,"
the Doctor said, his usual calm voice now quivering with
anticipation and a good deal of hope. If only this worked this time.
This was more difficult than he'd thought in the beginning. He was
holding tight to the casing of the monitor, although knowing
perfectly well that this wasn't going to accomplish anything. And
yet it was comforting.
His dark eyes were observing the goings-on on the screen
intently, watching both the center of the screen and the bottom
right corner, where the computer displayed several columns of
rapidly changing data. His smile was widening by the second, and
when the simulation was over and the result to his satisfaction, he
couldn't help crying out in triumph.
"What is it?" Ysakc, who had been busy working in the
lab, was peering in through the doorway. It was all the Doctor
could do not to jump at the question of the Hirogen medic.
"Oh, nothing. I've just managed to ... um maximize the
readouts of this scanning unit here. I've tried this for months," the
Doctor lied.
"Why didn't you just have one of your excellent engineers
have a look at it?" Ysakc wanted to know.
"Sometimes, one has to accomplish things by oneself. It
makes you feel good," the Doctor explained. Where had that come
from? What was that Hirogen up to? This sounded as if he really
wanted to know, and it was curiosity and genuine interest that had
been in his voice rather than annoyance at the hologram. What was
he up to?
"Even if you're a hologram?"
The Doctor turned around, hiding the screen behind his
back. He was still startled. "Yes, even as a hologram."
"You Federations are interesting folks," Ysakc commented.
"I wish ..." The Hirogen let his voice trail off. When he recognized
the Doctor's inquisitive gaze, he said, in a manner more brusquely
know, just like it was his habit: "That need not concern you.
Proceed." Then he turned and vanished once again in the lab.
If it hadn't been for the Doctor's certainty that the Hirogen
only meant them all evil, he would have interpreted the behavior of
this guy almost as scientific curiosity. But even then ... hadn't
Voyager made bad experience enough of scientific methods of
research in the past months? No, the Doctor was quite sure that
even the Hirogen medic was playing a game of his own. First he'd
threatened to shut his program down if he didn't do as he was
ordered. And now he feigned interest, was probably even trying to
make friends with him?
Or had they changed their agenda? No. Impossible. The
survival of the Hirogen depended on the kills they'd make on
Voyager, they wouldn't put this opportunity at risk. A change of
mind, perhaps? The Doctor had already asked this question
himself. But again, he came to the conclusion that this was all due
to the agenda of the hunting race. Their manipulating of him was
part of their plan, of that he was sure.
He turned back at the screen of the computer, and looked at
his *experiment* once again. "Computer, run simulation on
medical maneuver 359 again." He had to be a thousand percent
sure of this. This entire business was too important as though he
could rely on only one simulation. This was his part of the plan,
nobody else knew about it, and this was important. Once again he
wondered why none of the three he'd sent back to the holodecks
with their neural interfaces off line had asked him what to do once
everybody had regained their own identities. How should they
defend themselves against the Hirogen once they'd detected that
they'd broken free from their game?
*Humans,* he thought, shaking his head, smiling softly to
himself. But what would he be if it hadn't been for them?
=/\=
The two of them walked slowly down the dark streets,
making their way from nothing but the dim light of the half moon.
There were no lights in the streets, the shutters of the houses were
closed so that not a single ray of light could escape the homes. The
Germans had ordered them to do so. Now that the Americans were
approaching they didn't want to be detected by aircraft, and so it
had to be dark in the small town of Sainte Claire. Nonsense,
paranoia to the inhabitants of the town, more so to the Americans.
They had come to free the country from their occupying forces but
not by means that would reduce the town to rubble. The French
were innocent after all, so why punish them for something they
hadn't done? Sure, a great part of the French had welcomed the
Germans, they were cooperating with them, but only to protect
themselves from more harm. Others didn't think like them. Those
were people like Catherine Leroux, who had put up the Résistance
under orders from deGaulle, who directed them first from London,
then from some secret place in France. The occupation was a hard
test on the French who had been split into two.
"Madame?" Davies eventually broke the silence. His voice
was low, adapting to their sneaking through the dark streets. They
could have went straight across the square to get to the front door
of the former Hôtel de Ville, but only if they'd suddenly changed
their minds to getting shot. So now they were sneaking through the
ill lit streets to get to a back door of the building hosting the
occupying forces.
"Oui?"
"May I ask you something?" the sandy-haired man wanted
to know.
Catherine wasn't sure what kind of question to expect. Did
he want to know about why she'd joined the Résistance? Did he
want to know about her relationship with Miller? She hesitated
before nodding at him to go on. She didn't have to answer him,
right?
"Will you help me find Brigitte when this is over?" Now,
from all question she hadn't expected this one. But then, as if the
question had sparked a weak ember in her brain, memory now
caught fire, a tiny flame first, but then ...
... she came to a dead stop. "You're Bobby Davies. I
remember you, you've been to the *Cœur de Lion* before, together
with Brigitte," she answered.
Bobby Davies was standing almost one head higher than
her, now that she'd changed into a pair of flat shoes. The pale light
of the moon was drawing the features of is face, making them
stand out into strong contrast to the dark half of his face. "You
know me?"
"Miller never told me you were coming to help me with
this, and probably you weren't told about me either. When we met
for the first time, it was only a brief encounter," Catherine told
him. "But I know you better than you can even begin to think."
"How so?" Subconsciously, Davies secured his footing,
crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defensive manner.
"Brigitte is a very dear friend of mine. She hasn't been
when you were still here, but she told me everything about you as
soon as she'd come to trust me," Catherine offered, putting her
hand on his forearm in a calming gesture.
The smile that was brightening his blue eyes and face now
was enough to make the pale moonlight shine warmer. There he
was, he'd finally found her ... at least he knew where to look now,
there was this incredible woman telling him that ... oh Gods ...
"She is still very deeply in love with you, Bobby," Catherine
continued, "but things have changed. The war ... hasn't made life
easier for any of us, it even has changed some of us completely.
Please be gentle with her."
"I will, oh Madame, you can't even begin to understand
how much I love her," Bobby said.
"Believe me, I can," the French woman replied, smiling
softly to herself. She herself had found the true love of her life only
a few days ago. She cupped his dark cheek with her hand. "You're
a good guy, Bobby, please promise me to never stop loving her,
even if all odds are against you, come what might."
To Bobby the words of the older woman sounded as
though she were administering a promise of marriage to him. To
Catherine her words were an assurance that the man would stay at
Brigitte's side even now that she was pregnant with another guy's
child. Davies covered her hand on his cheek with his and squeezed
it gently. He hadn't thought otherwise anyway, so why not promise
her?
"I promise."
=/\=
By the time Harry and Seven had reached the King's tent,
the sun had completely set, and it was quite dark in the camp. A
red shimmer of light illuminated the darkening sky wherever there
were campfires. Sometimes, sparks would rise with the smoke into
the night sky and promise the raising of the stars. The noise of the
banquet and from the other small parties was filling the cooling air,
drowning the natural sounds of the nights. If it had been
completely silent around them, they could have listened to the
rustling of the soft breeze in the dry leaves of the trees, the distant
murmuring of the surf and of course to the songs of the crickets.
An ideal setting for spending a romantic night with a beautiful
woman like Seven at his side.
But Harry was well aware of the importance of their
mission, and so he kept concentrating on the task at hand. Soon
they'd reached the King's tent. They made sure that there was no
one around, then they slipped silently inside. Complete darkness
surrounded them, covering their activities. Harry waited for his
eyes to adjust to what little light was left in the tent, but he soon
found that the tarpaulin was too thick as to let any of the distant
reddish light enter. Uneasiness spread in the pit of his stomach, the
silence was as deafening as the air was stuffy and stifling. If it had
been only him, he sure would have felt a lot better, but with Seven
by his side it was an entirely different story.
"The Doctor has told me where to find the access panel to
the manual controls," Seven suddenly told him. She got him with
that, but to her credit she was at least whispering.
"Very well. Go ahead," Harry urged her. Finding the
access panel meant finding a wrist-torch. He'd give a kingdom for
some light.
As it turned out, it was less costly, but still too expensive
for him. Despite having better night vision than him, Seven
knocked him over on her way to a chest in the far corner of the
tent. She pushed him rudely aside, sending him hitting yet another
chest with his shin. It was all he could do not to let out a stifled cry
of pain. Instead he settled for just inhaling sharply. And then came
the last words he'd expected over Seven's lips: "I am sorry."
"Never mind," he eventually replied. Why was it that this
woman always found a way to make him feel ... what? Like an
idiot? Surprised? Dumbstruck? Funny in his stomach? He wasn't
quite sure, so he settled for a mixture of all of these feelings. What
he wasn't ready to admit, though, was that they could be summed
up under the generic term of love.
The lights that suddenly threw two bright circles on the
tarpaulin wall chased his thoughts away at once. So Seven had
found the access panel. Of course had he realized this earlier, when
the dim green and red lights in the relays of the panel had become
visible. But now that they were having brighter illumination at
their hands—literally speaking—Harry found that the access panel
had been hidden behind the front wall of the chest the Doctor had
led them to. Then there materialized some tools in front of the
chest out of thin air. Seven informed him that the Doctor had sent
them to them.
"Computer, get me a clarinet," Harry suddenly said. Of
course, nothing did happen. Just like he'd anticipated.
"What was that supposed to mean, Ensign?" Seven wanted
to know, looking at him with her head slightly tilted. This was so ...
out of place ... the two of them in their medieval clothes in front of
an access panel of a highly sophisticated computer. Harry smiled
softly to himself.
"I just wanted to get a suspicion confirmed," Harry simply
said.
"Well?"
"Did I get what I wanted?" He showed her his empty
hands. "No, so I take it that we can't give the computer oral
orders."
"But the Hirogen can. I see, they have obviously limited
oral access to the computer to voice identification," Seven stated.
"Are these tools holographic?" he pressed on.
"Yes, they are," came the reply.
Harry whistled ever so slightly under his breath. "So they
must have gained access to making minor changes to the program."
"I would say so," Seven said, finding nothing special about
it—except for her hope that Starfleet efficiency might have
increased alongside her social skills. Seven pulled some of the
isolinear chips in the panel out of their places, and exchanged them
among themselves. Harry kept watching both her actions and the
opening of the tent, concentrating on possible sounds outsides.
His ears didn't betray him. Only shortly after they'd
stopped talking, he could hear stones and dirt crunching beneath
the soles of heavy boots. The sound was coming closer by the
second, and it was high time they did something when Seven
closed the panel, hiding the tools under her long skirt.
Not quite knowing how to explain their being inside the
tent, Harry caught her in a tight embrace and pulled a startled
Seven close to him. Just as the tarpaulin flaps were parted, he was
brushing his lips against hers, stifling her surprised cry of protest.
One of his hands went up to cup her cheek out of its own will,
while with the other he pulled her body yet a little bit closer to his.
He had kissed her before, but then it had been forced upon
him either by Seven herself in her eagerness to try out her bodily
functions or by some ill aliens who had used them as their guinea-
pigs. But this kiss—although forced upon him in a certain way—
was totally different from their earlier tries. This was because the
kiss was being returned. Seven clung tightly to him with her Borg
force once she'd overcome the initial shock, but to Harry's surprise
she let him—or rather his tongue—guide her.
His eyes fluttered open to check if they were still alone.
Instead, he found himself glancing at Seven, whose eyes were
closed. But there was no time to revel in this. Out of the corner of
his eye he found that they were no longer alone. Simultaneously,
the intruder drew the attention to himself by clearing his throat.
=/\=
Frank returned to the guests of the *Cœur de Lion*
immediately after Catherine and Davies had left. He didn't want to
raise any suspicion. There were less Nazis in this evening than
they'd anticipated—and hoped for—, but Brückner and his aide
Riebel were there, and the two of them were the most annoying
and dangerous ones of the gang. Kaar wasn't even that bad,
particularly since he didn't show up very often, and Sarpa had left
earlier. Sarpa was the guy Frank was most apprehensive of,
because he had something about him that made the American
uneasy, to put it mildly.
Not quite knowing what to do, he went to Sabina, who was
standing at the bar, having a glass of water. Every three or four
songs she'd make a short break to recover her voice. People were
smoking very much in here and this wasn't exactly the best thing
for a singer's voice.
"How are you doing, what do you think?" Frank asked her.
Sabina eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement, but
she did let the latter show only the slightest bit.
*Of course does he not know who he really is,* Sam
thought. It was strange to see Commander Chakotay like this, in
1940's style clothes, with his hair sticking to his head. The tattoo
seemed out of place, and she wondered what story he would tell if
asked. She had to admit, though, that the Hirogen hadn't changed
his character very much, as they'd done with everybody. They still
were the same in character, despite their acting differently on it
because of their new backgrounds. And what she found most
charming was that Catherine and Frank were acting on their mutual
love. At the same time it saddened her because Sam wasn't sure,
how this would turn out in the end. So far they did not know if any
of the people who had been sent to the holodecks remembered
what had happened there. If they did remember, then ... She didn't
want to pursue this thought any longer, the thought alone what
would be with Naomi in that case sent icy shivers down her spine.
"I feel comfortable," she admitted. "But you have to ask
your guests whether they like me yourself."
"I don't think so. They look pretty impressed," Frank
replied. "You have a beautiful voice."
Although the mature woman she was, Sam couldn't help
blushing. If only Chakotay were aware of what he'd just said. He'd
just made her one of the nicest compliments she'd gotten ever since
Larx—and Joe, of course, but her relationship with him was still
too fragile. Frankly, she wasn't sure if this was right. But this
wasn't the time to brood over this. "Mille grazie," she merely said,
reaching for his hand and squeezing it gently. "If you'll excuse me,
there's only little time left until I've got to sing again."
"Sure," Frank murmured under his breath, and watched her
leave for the restrooms.
Once alone in the back of the nightclub, Sam pulled up the
skirt of her dress and removed the combadge she'd attached to its
seam. She activated it on the bugproof channel and contacted the
Doctor. During her short conversation with Commander Chakotay,
the combadge had started vibrating to let her know that she should
contact the Doctor as soon as possible.
"Wildman here," she announced, glancing nervously up the
stairs that led to the apartments above the nightclub. She decided
that it'd be best if she went up there.
"Ensign, good to hear from you," the Doctor greeted her.
"Is everything all right in Sainte Claire?"
"Yes, it's working. I'll tell you everything later."
"Very well. Seven of Nine has just let me know that they
have access to the panel in Holodeck Two. How much time do you
have at your disposal?" the Doctor wanted to know.
"Not much, but if I can make a quick one, no one will
notice anything. As far as I could observe all of our people in here
have eaten or drunk something," Sam said.
"Good. Listen, the access panel is located in the aft wall of
the holodeck."
Sam calculated where this was in relation to her position.
"Oh no, Doctor, there's no way for me to get there. It's just next to
the fireplace. Everybody would see me," she almost exclaimed.
The Doctor was silent for a minute or so. Sam made sure
that they weren't missing her yet, and in her thoughts she urged the
hologram at the receiving end to hurry up. Eventually, the Doctor
said: "Don't worry, Ensign. Just keep up the acting, I think we can
get this done in another way."
"Sure?"
"Do you remember Seska's little leaving-present, the
mutiny scenario?"
"Yes," Sam answered somewhat breathlessly. Time was
pressing now.
"Well, Lieutenant Carey has remembered it, and I think he
can find a way to get you all out of there safe and sound," the
Doctor replied in a most annoying chatty manner.
"You *think* he can!?"
"I *know* he can," he corrected himself. "Don't worry,
Ensign. Doctor out."
=/\=
Joe had known that this time, the Doctor's call didn't mean
anything good. A minute later he knew that he'd been right. Sure,
the Captain and Torres had been able to free Paris and Tuvok from
Seska's mutiny scenario, but only because they had cheated on the
computer. He didn't know how he could accomplish this now. The
Hirogen, too, had encrypted the major subroutines of holodeck-
programming. Finding a hole to slip through could mean several
hours' work. Several hours they didn't have. Even with this strange
new attitude of the Hirogen they couldn't be sure whether they
preferred to change it as quickly again.
All of this was his burden now. He'd been so relieved and
proud of himself when he'd found that he could make minor
changes of the program, and when he'd reprogrammed the
replicators. But this was a task that couldn't be accomplished from
outside the holodeck.
Shaking his head because of this new obstacle at hand, he
returned to his task. It was just a minor repair at one of the
computer relays, a malfunction whose cause he hadn't yet found.
But if everything went well, he'd have repaired it in a matter of
minutes. Then he could think about a solution to his new one.
Maybe he'd get an inspiration for it working on the easier problem.
At least it seemed as if it the computer relays were the
easier problem. For a while, he searched for the cause of the
malfunction. Then he found that the usually blue gel-packs had
changed their color. With Neelix being on the holodeck, Carey
could rule out cheese this time. But what was wrong with the gel-
packs, then?
He opened his tricorder. According to the readings of the
mechanical components, there wasn't anything wrong. When he
changed to the limited medical analysis program, though, he found
that the gel-packs were having a serious illness. With Voyager ill,
the safety protocols on Holodeck Two could wait. If the bio-neural
network of the gel-packs failed, they wouldn't need the safety
protocols any more. Escape pods would be more popular, then.
He rerouted the function to conventional data processing
before removing the ill gel-pack from the panel. After a quick
explanation to his Hirogen guard, they went to sickbay as quickly
as possible.
To be continued ...
Cœur de Lion
By Katie
Chapter 10
Maquis
They met in the back of the *Cœur de Lion*. Bobby
noticed with a hint of disappointment that Catherine had changed
from her gown into a pair of black trousers and a dark brown
blouse with little white flowers printed on it. When she descended
the stairs, she was checking the ammunition of a gun. After she'd
made sure that everything was all right with the weapon, she let it
slide into the pocket of her trousers. Bobby cast her a surprised
glance.
"I'll accompany you, Mr Davies," Catherine told him.
Bobby smiled nervously. "I took it either Captain Miller or
the leader of the local Résistance would accompany me," he
explained, relaxing and leaning against the handrail of the stairs.
From the kitchen they could hear the clattering around of Jean.
From the bar the sound of well-entertained people and Sabina's
voice were flooding through the hall towards them.
Catherine smiled her amused half-smile. "I am the leader
of the local Résistance."
Bobby was so surprised that he didn't know what to say.
Normally, he was very quick with his answers, whatever the
comment or question was, but this really caught him off-guard. He
had never thought about a woman being the leader of the local
Résistance, even in his wildest dreams—but they were dealing with
another woman these days anyway.
The Madame put her finger under his chin and made him
close his mouth again. "You're not the first, mon ami. Now, I
suggest you overcome your shock so we can get started."
"Just a moment!" Miller chimed in. He was coming from
the kitchen, still licking his lips. The vinaigrette Jean had made for
the lamb's lettuce was delicious. "Davies, you take good care of
her, is this understood?"
"Of course, Sir," Bobby assured him, all-dutiful at once.
Their mission was important, plus he knew that Miller was not the
kidding type of man in situations like these. Boy, he'd really gotten
it bad. But who was he to talk?
Miller hesitated for a second after he'd turned at Catherine.
He caught her in a tight embrace, kissing her good-bye
passionately. Bobby, who now got to know a new side of the
Captain, suddenly found the pattern of the carpet that covered the
stairs very interesting. But he couldn't help listening to what they
said.
"Take good care, will ya, love?" Miller whispered. He
didn't expect her to answer, so he kissed her briefly, and finally
pulled free from their embrace. He watched the two of them leave
through the back door. Only when he turned around to go back to
his guests did he realize that he was holding his fingers crossed for
them. Angrily, he opened his hands, scolding himself for this
superstitious gesture. Both Catherine and Davies were experts in
this matter, so why worry. And yet ...
=/\=
"Computer, run a simulation on medical maneuver 359,"
the Doctor said, his usual calm voice now quivering with
anticipation and a good deal of hope. If only this worked this time.
This was more difficult than he'd thought in the beginning. He was
holding tight to the casing of the monitor, although knowing
perfectly well that this wasn't going to accomplish anything. And
yet it was comforting.
His dark eyes were observing the goings-on on the screen
intently, watching both the center of the screen and the bottom
right corner, where the computer displayed several columns of
rapidly changing data. His smile was widening by the second, and
when the simulation was over and the result to his satisfaction, he
couldn't help crying out in triumph.
"What is it?" Ysakc, who had been busy working in the
lab, was peering in through the doorway. It was all the Doctor
could do not to jump at the question of the Hirogen medic.
"Oh, nothing. I've just managed to ... um maximize the
readouts of this scanning unit here. I've tried this for months," the
Doctor lied.
"Why didn't you just have one of your excellent engineers
have a look at it?" Ysakc wanted to know.
"Sometimes, one has to accomplish things by oneself. It
makes you feel good," the Doctor explained. Where had that come
from? What was that Hirogen up to? This sounded as if he really
wanted to know, and it was curiosity and genuine interest that had
been in his voice rather than annoyance at the hologram. What was
he up to?
"Even if you're a hologram?"
The Doctor turned around, hiding the screen behind his
back. He was still startled. "Yes, even as a hologram."
"You Federations are interesting folks," Ysakc commented.
"I wish ..." The Hirogen let his voice trail off. When he recognized
the Doctor's inquisitive gaze, he said, in a manner more brusquely
know, just like it was his habit: "That need not concern you.
Proceed." Then he turned and vanished once again in the lab.
If it hadn't been for the Doctor's certainty that the Hirogen
only meant them all evil, he would have interpreted the behavior of
this guy almost as scientific curiosity. But even then ... hadn't
Voyager made bad experience enough of scientific methods of
research in the past months? No, the Doctor was quite sure that
even the Hirogen medic was playing a game of his own. First he'd
threatened to shut his program down if he didn't do as he was
ordered. And now he feigned interest, was probably even trying to
make friends with him?
Or had they changed their agenda? No. Impossible. The
survival of the Hirogen depended on the kills they'd make on
Voyager, they wouldn't put this opportunity at risk. A change of
mind, perhaps? The Doctor had already asked this question
himself. But again, he came to the conclusion that this was all due
to the agenda of the hunting race. Their manipulating of him was
part of their plan, of that he was sure.
He turned back at the screen of the computer, and looked at
his *experiment* once again. "Computer, run simulation on
medical maneuver 359 again." He had to be a thousand percent
sure of this. This entire business was too important as though he
could rely on only one simulation. This was his part of the plan,
nobody else knew about it, and this was important. Once again he
wondered why none of the three he'd sent back to the holodecks
with their neural interfaces off line had asked him what to do once
everybody had regained their own identities. How should they
defend themselves against the Hirogen once they'd detected that
they'd broken free from their game?
*Humans,* he thought, shaking his head, smiling softly to
himself. But what would he be if it hadn't been for them?
=/\=
The two of them walked slowly down the dark streets,
making their way from nothing but the dim light of the half moon.
There were no lights in the streets, the shutters of the houses were
closed so that not a single ray of light could escape the homes. The
Germans had ordered them to do so. Now that the Americans were
approaching they didn't want to be detected by aircraft, and so it
had to be dark in the small town of Sainte Claire. Nonsense,
paranoia to the inhabitants of the town, more so to the Americans.
They had come to free the country from their occupying forces but
not by means that would reduce the town to rubble. The French
were innocent after all, so why punish them for something they
hadn't done? Sure, a great part of the French had welcomed the
Germans, they were cooperating with them, but only to protect
themselves from more harm. Others didn't think like them. Those
were people like Catherine Leroux, who had put up the Résistance
under orders from deGaulle, who directed them first from London,
then from some secret place in France. The occupation was a hard
test on the French who had been split into two.
"Madame?" Davies eventually broke the silence. His voice
was low, adapting to their sneaking through the dark streets. They
could have went straight across the square to get to the front door
of the former Hôtel de Ville, but only if they'd suddenly changed
their minds to getting shot. So now they were sneaking through the
ill lit streets to get to a back door of the building hosting the
occupying forces.
"Oui?"
"May I ask you something?" the sandy-haired man wanted
to know.
Catherine wasn't sure what kind of question to expect. Did
he want to know about why she'd joined the Résistance? Did he
want to know about her relationship with Miller? She hesitated
before nodding at him to go on. She didn't have to answer him,
right?
"Will you help me find Brigitte when this is over?" Now,
from all question she hadn't expected this one. But then, as if the
question had sparked a weak ember in her brain, memory now
caught fire, a tiny flame first, but then ...
... she came to a dead stop. "You're Bobby Davies. I
remember you, you've been to the *Cœur de Lion* before, together
with Brigitte," she answered.
Bobby Davies was standing almost one head higher than
her, now that she'd changed into a pair of flat shoes. The pale light
of the moon was drawing the features of is face, making them
stand out into strong contrast to the dark half of his face. "You
know me?"
"Miller never told me you were coming to help me with
this, and probably you weren't told about me either. When we met
for the first time, it was only a brief encounter," Catherine told
him. "But I know you better than you can even begin to think."
"How so?" Subconsciously, Davies secured his footing,
crossed his arms in front of his chest in a defensive manner.
"Brigitte is a very dear friend of mine. She hasn't been
when you were still here, but she told me everything about you as
soon as she'd come to trust me," Catherine offered, putting her
hand on his forearm in a calming gesture.
The smile that was brightening his blue eyes and face now
was enough to make the pale moonlight shine warmer. There he
was, he'd finally found her ... at least he knew where to look now,
there was this incredible woman telling him that ... oh Gods ...
"She is still very deeply in love with you, Bobby," Catherine
continued, "but things have changed. The war ... hasn't made life
easier for any of us, it even has changed some of us completely.
Please be gentle with her."
"I will, oh Madame, you can't even begin to understand
how much I love her," Bobby said.
"Believe me, I can," the French woman replied, smiling
softly to herself. She herself had found the true love of her life only
a few days ago. She cupped his dark cheek with her hand. "You're
a good guy, Bobby, please promise me to never stop loving her,
even if all odds are against you, come what might."
To Bobby the words of the older woman sounded as
though she were administering a promise of marriage to him. To
Catherine her words were an assurance that the man would stay at
Brigitte's side even now that she was pregnant with another guy's
child. Davies covered her hand on his cheek with his and squeezed
it gently. He hadn't thought otherwise anyway, so why not promise
her?
"I promise."
=/\=
By the time Harry and Seven had reached the King's tent,
the sun had completely set, and it was quite dark in the camp. A
red shimmer of light illuminated the darkening sky wherever there
were campfires. Sometimes, sparks would rise with the smoke into
the night sky and promise the raising of the stars. The noise of the
banquet and from the other small parties was filling the cooling air,
drowning the natural sounds of the nights. If it had been
completely silent around them, they could have listened to the
rustling of the soft breeze in the dry leaves of the trees, the distant
murmuring of the surf and of course to the songs of the crickets.
An ideal setting for spending a romantic night with a beautiful
woman like Seven at his side.
But Harry was well aware of the importance of their
mission, and so he kept concentrating on the task at hand. Soon
they'd reached the King's tent. They made sure that there was no
one around, then they slipped silently inside. Complete darkness
surrounded them, covering their activities. Harry waited for his
eyes to adjust to what little light was left in the tent, but he soon
found that the tarpaulin was too thick as to let any of the distant
reddish light enter. Uneasiness spread in the pit of his stomach, the
silence was as deafening as the air was stuffy and stifling. If it had
been only him, he sure would have felt a lot better, but with Seven
by his side it was an entirely different story.
"The Doctor has told me where to find the access panel to
the manual controls," Seven suddenly told him. She got him with
that, but to her credit she was at least whispering.
"Very well. Go ahead," Harry urged her. Finding the
access panel meant finding a wrist-torch. He'd give a kingdom for
some light.
As it turned out, it was less costly, but still too expensive
for him. Despite having better night vision than him, Seven
knocked him over on her way to a chest in the far corner of the
tent. She pushed him rudely aside, sending him hitting yet another
chest with his shin. It was all he could do not to let out a stifled cry
of pain. Instead he settled for just inhaling sharply. And then came
the last words he'd expected over Seven's lips: "I am sorry."
"Never mind," he eventually replied. Why was it that this
woman always found a way to make him feel ... what? Like an
idiot? Surprised? Dumbstruck? Funny in his stomach? He wasn't
quite sure, so he settled for a mixture of all of these feelings. What
he wasn't ready to admit, though, was that they could be summed
up under the generic term of love.
The lights that suddenly threw two bright circles on the
tarpaulin wall chased his thoughts away at once. So Seven had
found the access panel. Of course had he realized this earlier, when
the dim green and red lights in the relays of the panel had become
visible. But now that they were having brighter illumination at
their hands—literally speaking—Harry found that the access panel
had been hidden behind the front wall of the chest the Doctor had
led them to. Then there materialized some tools in front of the
chest out of thin air. Seven informed him that the Doctor had sent
them to them.
"Computer, get me a clarinet," Harry suddenly said. Of
course, nothing did happen. Just like he'd anticipated.
"What was that supposed to mean, Ensign?" Seven wanted
to know, looking at him with her head slightly tilted. This was so ...
out of place ... the two of them in their medieval clothes in front of
an access panel of a highly sophisticated computer. Harry smiled
softly to himself.
"I just wanted to get a suspicion confirmed," Harry simply
said.
"Well?"
"Did I get what I wanted?" He showed her his empty
hands. "No, so I take it that we can't give the computer oral
orders."
"But the Hirogen can. I see, they have obviously limited
oral access to the computer to voice identification," Seven stated.
"Are these tools holographic?" he pressed on.
"Yes, they are," came the reply.
Harry whistled ever so slightly under his breath. "So they
must have gained access to making minor changes to the program."
"I would say so," Seven said, finding nothing special about
it—except for her hope that Starfleet efficiency might have
increased alongside her social skills. Seven pulled some of the
isolinear chips in the panel out of their places, and exchanged them
among themselves. Harry kept watching both her actions and the
opening of the tent, concentrating on possible sounds outsides.
His ears didn't betray him. Only shortly after they'd
stopped talking, he could hear stones and dirt crunching beneath
the soles of heavy boots. The sound was coming closer by the
second, and it was high time they did something when Seven
closed the panel, hiding the tools under her long skirt.
Not quite knowing how to explain their being inside the
tent, Harry caught her in a tight embrace and pulled a startled
Seven close to him. Just as the tarpaulin flaps were parted, he was
brushing his lips against hers, stifling her surprised cry of protest.
One of his hands went up to cup her cheek out of its own will,
while with the other he pulled her body yet a little bit closer to his.
He had kissed her before, but then it had been forced upon
him either by Seven herself in her eagerness to try out her bodily
functions or by some ill aliens who had used them as their guinea-
pigs. But this kiss—although forced upon him in a certain way—
was totally different from their earlier tries. This was because the
kiss was being returned. Seven clung tightly to him with her Borg
force once she'd overcome the initial shock, but to Harry's surprise
she let him—or rather his tongue—guide her.
His eyes fluttered open to check if they were still alone.
Instead, he found himself glancing at Seven, whose eyes were
closed. But there was no time to revel in this. Out of the corner of
his eye he found that they were no longer alone. Simultaneously,
the intruder drew the attention to himself by clearing his throat.
=/\=
Frank returned to the guests of the *Cœur de Lion*
immediately after Catherine and Davies had left. He didn't want to
raise any suspicion. There were less Nazis in this evening than
they'd anticipated—and hoped for—, but Brückner and his aide
Riebel were there, and the two of them were the most annoying
and dangerous ones of the gang. Kaar wasn't even that bad,
particularly since he didn't show up very often, and Sarpa had left
earlier. Sarpa was the guy Frank was most apprehensive of,
because he had something about him that made the American
uneasy, to put it mildly.
Not quite knowing what to do, he went to Sabina, who was
standing at the bar, having a glass of water. Every three or four
songs she'd make a short break to recover her voice. People were
smoking very much in here and this wasn't exactly the best thing
for a singer's voice.
"How are you doing, what do you think?" Frank asked her.
Sabina eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement, but
she did let the latter show only the slightest bit.
*Of course does he not know who he really is,* Sam
thought. It was strange to see Commander Chakotay like this, in
1940's style clothes, with his hair sticking to his head. The tattoo
seemed out of place, and she wondered what story he would tell if
asked. She had to admit, though, that the Hirogen hadn't changed
his character very much, as they'd done with everybody. They still
were the same in character, despite their acting differently on it
because of their new backgrounds. And what she found most
charming was that Catherine and Frank were acting on their mutual
love. At the same time it saddened her because Sam wasn't sure,
how this would turn out in the end. So far they did not know if any
of the people who had been sent to the holodecks remembered
what had happened there. If they did remember, then ... She didn't
want to pursue this thought any longer, the thought alone what
would be with Naomi in that case sent icy shivers down her spine.
"I feel comfortable," she admitted. "But you have to ask
your guests whether they like me yourself."
"I don't think so. They look pretty impressed," Frank
replied. "You have a beautiful voice."
Although the mature woman she was, Sam couldn't help
blushing. If only Chakotay were aware of what he'd just said. He'd
just made her one of the nicest compliments she'd gotten ever since
Larx—and Joe, of course, but her relationship with him was still
too fragile. Frankly, she wasn't sure if this was right. But this
wasn't the time to brood over this. "Mille grazie," she merely said,
reaching for his hand and squeezing it gently. "If you'll excuse me,
there's only little time left until I've got to sing again."
"Sure," Frank murmured under his breath, and watched her
leave for the restrooms.
Once alone in the back of the nightclub, Sam pulled up the
skirt of her dress and removed the combadge she'd attached to its
seam. She activated it on the bugproof channel and contacted the
Doctor. During her short conversation with Commander Chakotay,
the combadge had started vibrating to let her know that she should
contact the Doctor as soon as possible.
"Wildman here," she announced, glancing nervously up the
stairs that led to the apartments above the nightclub. She decided
that it'd be best if she went up there.
"Ensign, good to hear from you," the Doctor greeted her.
"Is everything all right in Sainte Claire?"
"Yes, it's working. I'll tell you everything later."
"Very well. Seven of Nine has just let me know that they
have access to the panel in Holodeck Two. How much time do you
have at your disposal?" the Doctor wanted to know.
"Not much, but if I can make a quick one, no one will
notice anything. As far as I could observe all of our people in here
have eaten or drunk something," Sam said.
"Good. Listen, the access panel is located in the aft wall of
the holodeck."
Sam calculated where this was in relation to her position.
"Oh no, Doctor, there's no way for me to get there. It's just next to
the fireplace. Everybody would see me," she almost exclaimed.
The Doctor was silent for a minute or so. Sam made sure
that they weren't missing her yet, and in her thoughts she urged the
hologram at the receiving end to hurry up. Eventually, the Doctor
said: "Don't worry, Ensign. Just keep up the acting, I think we can
get this done in another way."
"Sure?"
"Do you remember Seska's little leaving-present, the
mutiny scenario?"
"Yes," Sam answered somewhat breathlessly. Time was
pressing now.
"Well, Lieutenant Carey has remembered it, and I think he
can find a way to get you all out of there safe and sound," the
Doctor replied in a most annoying chatty manner.
"You *think* he can!?"
"I *know* he can," he corrected himself. "Don't worry,
Ensign. Doctor out."
=/\=
Joe had known that this time, the Doctor's call didn't mean
anything good. A minute later he knew that he'd been right. Sure,
the Captain and Torres had been able to free Paris and Tuvok from
Seska's mutiny scenario, but only because they had cheated on the
computer. He didn't know how he could accomplish this now. The
Hirogen, too, had encrypted the major subroutines of holodeck-
programming. Finding a hole to slip through could mean several
hours' work. Several hours they didn't have. Even with this strange
new attitude of the Hirogen they couldn't be sure whether they
preferred to change it as quickly again.
All of this was his burden now. He'd been so relieved and
proud of himself when he'd found that he could make minor
changes of the program, and when he'd reprogrammed the
replicators. But this was a task that couldn't be accomplished from
outside the holodeck.
Shaking his head because of this new obstacle at hand, he
returned to his task. It was just a minor repair at one of the
computer relays, a malfunction whose cause he hadn't yet found.
But if everything went well, he'd have repaired it in a matter of
minutes. Then he could think about a solution to his new one.
Maybe he'd get an inspiration for it working on the easier problem.
At least it seemed as if it the computer relays were the
easier problem. For a while, he searched for the cause of the
malfunction. Then he found that the usually blue gel-packs had
changed their color. With Neelix being on the holodeck, Carey
could rule out cheese this time. But what was wrong with the gel-
packs, then?
He opened his tricorder. According to the readings of the
mechanical components, there wasn't anything wrong. When he
changed to the limited medical analysis program, though, he found
that the gel-packs were having a serious illness. With Voyager ill,
the safety protocols on Holodeck Two could wait. If the bio-neural
network of the gel-packs failed, they wouldn't need the safety
protocols any more. Escape pods would be more popular, then.
He rerouted the function to conventional data processing
before removing the ill gel-pack from the panel. After a quick
explanation to his Hirogen guard, they went to sickbay as quickly
as possible.
To be continued ...