Disclaimer: see part I
Cœur de Lion
by Katie
Chapter 11
Bacterium Casei Neelixis
The Doctor's brow was deeply furrowed in concentration.
He'd hauled out a special analysis device for gel-packs from
somewhere in the lower drawers of his laboratory, and was now
setting the parameters for the check-up.
"It's good you came as soon as you've found it,
Lieutenant," the Doctor observed, putting the blue gel-pack with a
greenish hue into the device. Carey hadn't left yet, he wanted to
know about the result of the check. He flapped his tricorder open
and checked on the data he'd collected on the mechanical
components of the gel-packs earlier. Again, he was relieved to find
that everything was all right—at least with the technical part of the
business.
"Too bad that this time it's not the fault of Neelix's cheese.
We'd have an easy solution at hands then," Carey pointed out.
"Hmm, French cheese can be pretty sharp at times too, as I
recall," the hologram murmured. "But then, it'd be holographic
bacteria in this case, and I doubt that they could be of much harm
to our little friends here."
Carey gave this a moment's thought, then he wondered:
"Even with the security protocols off-line?"
"You haven't gotten them back on-line yet?" Carey's
remark had caught the Doctor's full attention. He spun around and
looked the Irish engineer directly in the eyes.
"No, I was repairing several relays when you called on me.
I wanted to finish this first before looking after the security
protocols, that's when I found the ill gel-pack," Carey explained
with his voice slightly stronger now that he had to defend himself.
Or at least he thought so.
"Well, yes, of course. You couldn't have managed this in a
matter of five minutes, now, could you?" the Doctor admitted, the
furrows on his brow softening something. "I guess, this entire
business is taking its toll on me as well. It's high time we did
something."
After Carey had made sure that *his* Hirogen guard had
settled for a talk with Sickbay's guard, he asked: "I thought you
were having a plan?"
"Yes, I do. But at first I wanted you to get those security
protocols back on-line. I think we'll have to change it a little bit. I
just wanted to make sure that the crew are in no danger any more
until I'd found the solution to the problem with my part," the
Doctor explained.
"What problem? Perhaps I ca ...," Carey offered, but the
hologram cut him short. "It's of a medical nature."
"Oh, I understand." For a minute they watched the device
completing the analysis of the gel-pack. Then something awful
dawned on the engineer. "You aren't working on a medical
treatment for the Hirogen's addiction to kill, are you?"
"No, after all what they've done to our crew? I admit that
I'm taking quite a lot out of the Hippocratic oath here, but since the
Hirogen don't seem to give a damn about it anyway, and
considering that Captain Janeway herself doesn't treat the Prime
Directive differently at times, so why can't I?" the hologram
defended himself.
Carey had to smile. "Don't worry, Doc. Your little secret
will be safe with me."
The Doctor looked at him in a way Carey couldn't quite
interpret, but before wondering about it too long, he settled for
gratefulness with a conspiratorial touch to it. The analysis device
had finished its job and announced this with a soft beep to the two
men. "Ah, it's finished."
He looked at the readout of the screen, and after skimming
through the data displayed on it, he did something Carey wouldn't
have thought him capable of. The holographic Doctor blanched.
Carey's brows knitted in curiosity, and he took a look for himself,
but in contrast to the Doctor he couldn't make any sense of the
data. "What is it, Doctor?"
"*I'm especially concerned about the health of the gel-
packs. I suspect the Hirogen to have brought a disease that might
infect them.*" the Doctor quoted. "Ensign Kim's very words. And
what did I do? I didn't listen to him!" He had curled his left hand
into a tight fist and slammed it into the top of the table with a force
that made the padds laying on it jump.
=/\=
From his stool at the bar Frank could observe Catherine's
guests, particularly Brückner and the other Nazis who had
withdrawn to a darker corner of the nightclub. With the tables and
chairs standing on a low podium that was surrounded by a railing,
one could easily talk about some kind of the Nazis' very own
private booth. Brückner had yet to live up to his promise of talking
to him. Frank was rather anxious about their interview. On the one
hand he wanted to get to know his enemy, on the other hand he
was hoping that his disguise wouldn't be busted.
Sabina had returned from her slightly prolonged break, and
now she was singing again, accompanied on the piano by Claude.
Brückner didn't make any move to have him come to him. Instead
he seemed to be enjoying the Italian woman's singing. To the
Hauptmann, it obviously didn't make any difference if either
Séverine or Sabina entertained them.
Frank turned to Paul behind the bar and wanted to ask him
what the time was, when he felt somebody touch his sleeve. Paul
who was drying off a glass with a towel pointed behind Frank's
shoulder with the towel in hand. Frank turned and looked down to
find his *mother* standing there with her hands on her hips, a little
breathless, and a satisfied expression in her face, the one of the
*I've been telling you*-kind.
"Maman," Frank said, hoping he sounded convincing
despite his being annoyed by her presence. "How nice to see you
here!"
"Ah, mon fils, apropos seeing each other," she began. Her
tone of voice bade no good, Frank knew that. So to ease the tension
a little bit he proffered her his stool to sit. "I can't see your lovely
wife anywhere. Where is she?" she said, without preamble.
Now, it had to be Catherine again, hadn't it? Why couldn't
she just stop picking on her? However, Frank suppressed a sigh of
frustration, and answered: "She doesn't feel quite well tonight.
Maybe she'll come down later on."
"Are you absolutely sure about it? I could have sworn that
I'd seen her a few streets away, kissing a young man. If only she
evinced so much passion for you as well ..." she let her voice trail
off. Frank had to admit she'd played to the gallery quite well, but
he knew Catherine better than allowing himself to believe the
venomous talk of a bored old woman that was full of hatred. But of
course ...
... did he blink in surprise at the latest realization which
was not the one about his wife, but that there was another person
inhabiting this body. Chakotay found that all of a sudden he'd
stopped observing the life of Frank Miller from somewhere outside
his body. Instead, his soul—as if it had been sedated or had taken
shore-leave—had suddenly returned into its very own body to take
over from here. Now there were to personas living in this body.
But one was the stronger one, and it was Chakotay who took over
from here, using Frank Miller's memories and feelings to play the
game. He realized quickly that he was on a holodeck, together with
Tuvok, who was standing behind the bar and drying glasses.
His realization of who he really was made Maman Leroux
believe that that what she'd just told him was having some effect on
him. "Maurice?"
"Oui, Maman," he replied, using Miller's knowledge of
French. "Are you really sure about that? Catherine would never
betray me, I know that."
"How foolish you are, son. Don't you think that in the long
time you've been away she's let her sheets cool down for one single
night?" Madame Leroux hissed.
Chakotay didn't know what to reply. The hatred of the
woman was so strong that he couldn't help pitying her. What a
poor, lonely old woman she had to be that she had to do something
like this. Catherine—or rather Kathryn—would never behave like
this, never, not after the passion she had been evincing for him.
And then it hit him with all its might. Kathryn and he ... they were
a couple, at least in this holographic simulation. Somehow he was
glad she wasn't here, witnessing all this. If she had regained her
consciousness of who she really was, yet? What was going on here,
after all?
He noticed the singer winking at him. It was Ensign
Wildman, and if he had interpreted her wink the right way, she
knew what was going on. At least one. He was about to order the
computer to stop the program, when the door opened, and a
Hirogen hunter dressed in a Nazi uniform came in. How could he
have forgotten that they had been enslaved by the Hirogen? It was
sure then, and certainly most wise, to keep playing the role of
Frank Miller.
But before Chakotay could act on it, B'Elanna stepped
towards them from behind. The first thing that struck Chakotay
about his friend was her pregnancy. A smile tugged on the corners
of his mouth, for he had never been able to picture B'Elanna
pregnant of all people. At second glance, though, he had to admit
that the child suited the Half-Klingon quite well. She looked less
*Klingon* that way.
Chakotay wasn't sure whether he was commenting on
Madame Leroux' revelation or B'Elanna's condition when he said,
absolutely flabbergasted: "I can't believe it."
"You'll accept it, son," old Madame Leroux commented
matter-of-factly. Then, in a triumphant tone, she added: "And who
do you think she was kissing, eh? That American boy who turned
Brigitte's head several years ago!"
The old woman hadn't noticed B'Elanna standing behind
her. Her voice sounded so completely unbelieving that Chakotay
realized at once that B'Elanna was still Brigitte.
"No," was the only word she said.
Madame Leroux turned to face her, and padded her cheek
in a condescending manner. "Yes, my dear. Your ... Bobby ... is
back. But he hasn't quite found his way, now that he's lying in the
arms of another woman. But who are you to speak, with that Nazi
bastard in there?" She stabbed her belly with a bony finger.
"Now, that's enough, mother!" Chakotay said, his voice
dangerously calm with anger. "We've gathered here to celebrate
my return, and you don't know any better than spreading the most
ugly and disgusting rumors?"
The old woman rose. "How dare you? You're talking to
your mother, young man!"
Chakotay closed his eyes to gather his inner calm. "Go.
You aren't the woman I remember to be my mother. Please go."
"You fools!" she spat. Until now they hadn't noticed that
this ugly scene was being observed by everybody in the nightclub.
The guests were staring at them in disbelief, not knowing how to
react. Most of them knew about the Leroux family history, but
none of them—not a single one—thought Catherine capable of
adultery. But what was that about the American in their town?
Paul had come forth from behind his realm. He gestured
for Madame to leave, and in perfect gentlemanly manner he
walked her to the door. Then he expressed his regrets for the ugly
scene to everybody present, and asked them—if possible—to
return to their conversations. Of course the atmosphere was
strained for a while, but soon people began shaking their heads
about the old hag.
Brigitte's face was ashen, and she was shaking her head in
disbelief. Somebody had pushed a chair to sit on underneath her.
After Chakotay had nodded at Wildman to go on singing, he
squatted in front of his friend and took the hand resting on her
thigh into his. Never before had he realized how minute her hands
were. She was caressing her belly with her other hand
absentmindedly. They remained like this for several minutes.
Eventually, she raised her head. Tears were rolling down
her cheeks. "Tell me this isn't true, François!" she said, her voice
small.
"She must have made this up, Brigitte," Chakotay lied.
Catherine had told him about Brigitte's lost love, and when he put
one and one together he realized that Bobby Davies—or should he
say Tom Paris?—was this lost love. "I'm sure, she must have made
this up. Catherine would never betray me." Chakotay was well
aware of the danger they were in. Old Leroux had told them that
there was an American in town, loud enough so even the Nazis in
their private booth could—must—have heard it in the deathly
quiet.
Without recognizing it, Brigitte had used the real name of
Maurice Leroux. Who had noticed her slip of tongue though, was
Brückner, who, concerned about his child, had come up behind
them unnoticed.
"François, it is, then? I was quite certain that your first
name is Maurice, Herr Leroux," he simply said, his child forgotten.
To Frank's relief, he'd obviously overheard the mentioning of the
Americans' presence in town.
=/\=
Catherine and Bobby had found an open window on the
first floor of the misused town hall through which they had
sneaked into the building. It had been child's play for Catherine to
open the shutter from the outside. Now they were stealing down
the hall to the stairs. According to Brigitte's description they had to
find the former mayor's office. There the Germans had put up their
radio equipment. Both Catherine and Bobby were wondering why
they had chosen to equip the radio station just there. The
Hauptmann had had his office set up in the same room.
They were almost alone in the building. Despite the critical
situation for the occupants, the building was deserted. Every thirty
minutes a patrol saw that everything was all right, but this was it.
The radio station was filled round the clock, they would have to
knock the soldier out. The last patrol had just vanished around the
corner to write their report in the doorman's office. So the two
intruders had plenty of time at their hands to sneak upstairs,
destroy the radio and close the shutters behind them as though
there'd never happened anything. Another party of two from the
Résistance was taking care of the telephone lines of the Hôtel de
Ville right now.
Catherine switched on her flash-light and headed for the
stairs. They could hardly see their own hands in front of their faces
because of the blackout. "Damn, it's dark in here," Bobby muttered
softly. Catherine didn't comment on this, she'd stopped
commenting on statements of the obvious long ago. Otherwise,
Paul would have driven her crazy.
When they reached the upper half-landing, they made sure
that they still were alone. Catherine thought she'd heard fabric rub
against fabric and heavy boots tapping the carpet, but she
dismissed the thought soon. Maybe her nerves were just playing
tricks on her.
Eventually, they found their way to the Hauptmann's
office. Catherine opened the door carefully, grateful that the
squeaking door had been oiled by the Nazis, just like Brigitte had
reported to her. She had to know, she'd worked here before the
occupation after all. The radio operator was working in the dim
glow of a lamp. It was casting bizarre shadows on the wall,
distorting the shapes of the furniture and artifacts into a dark
shapeless mass. As a child, Catherine had always seen monsters or
beasts of some kind in them, so when she slept, she never kept her
lamp on. Unlike others, she'd felt safer in complete darkness—it
was dark when she closed her eyes, after all.
The radio was turned off at the moment. The headphones
were laying on top of the radio. The radio operator had chosen the
radio silence to take a nap. His chin was resting on his breastbone
and he was snoring softly. This made it easier for the two dark
figures who were entering the room on tiptoes now. Bobby
produced something from the pocket of his jacket and clobbered
the sleeping man with it, sending him even further into the realm of
sweet dreams.
Catherine pushed the chair he was sitting in away and
started to manipulate the radio. Bobby checked the door, then he
went across the room to the window. Somebody had forgotten to
close the slats of the shutters. The cool moonlight was pouring in,
decorating the expensive carpet with bright beams. He peeped out,
finding the market place deserted. Only the moon was illuminating
the square, even the *Cœur de Lion* had set its compulsory
blackout up.
"How's it going?" Bobby whispered into Catherine's
general direction.
"I'm almost done," the French woman hissed back. She
produced a pair of pliers from the pocket of her trousers and cut
several wires she'd pulled out from the radio. When she had
finished, she stared puzzled at the tool in her right hand, and the
wires in the other. *What the ...* she wondered.
"Captain?" she heard a familiar voice ask her. Kathryn
turned around and found Tom Paris standing in front of her,
dressed in dark civilian clothes from another time and place.
"Tom," Kathryn said in disbelief. What were they doing
here? Subconsciously, she massaged the knot at the point where
her shoulder joined her neck. At first, she didn't recognize it, but
then she found a hard tiny spot beneath her skin. Kathryn lifted her
head and looked askance at her companion. "May I?"
Tom's eyebrows knitted, but before he could reply
anything, he felt his Captain's long fingers vanish beneath the
collar of his shirt. Her fingers were gently probing his skin at the
same place where she'd touched herself earlier. Then she found
what she was looking for. Tom felt it as her fingers stroked over
the skin, pressing it against the small something beneath it. "What
is this, Captain? Some kind of mind controlling device?"
"I guess so," Kathryn murmured, withdrawing her hand
from her pilot. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
Tom shook his head. "Nah, you didn't. Just don't tell
B'Elanna about it and everything will be fine," he quipped. This
remark eased the tension somewhat. While he was touching the
device under his skin himself now, both of them made their minds
up. And both of them knew what this was all about. They didn't
share the memories of their capture by the Hirogen and their roles
in their captors' sick game for nothing.
"Computer, status," Kathryn demanded.
The demand of the Captain remained unanswered.
"We have to regain control of the ship, or at least of the
holodeck," Kathryn decided. Without talking any further, they
started to frisk for a removable panel in the wall. They had to be on
a holodeck, there was no way anybody would put themselves into
the trouble of rebuilding a terran mid-twentieth-century building in
the middle of the Delta Quadrant. The Hirogen were far away from
the homeworld to hunt other people down, so where could they set
this up if not on Voyager?
"Here, I've got it!" Tom whispered as lowly as he could.
He had already removed the books hiding the access panel to
holodeck control.
"You won't need any help with this, will you?" Kathryn
said, knowing Tom's skill at holodeck programming.
"No, not really," Tom grinned, already engrossed in
studying the configurations.
"I'll watch our backs then," Kathryn told him. The patrol
wasn't due in another quarter of an hour, that left them at least a
little time. They could hide in here, Kathryn had made out some
great places to hide on the way to the door.
=/\=
She stared wide-eyed at their unasked visitor. He was
looming over them, the dim light pouring in from behind him
silhouetted his tall frame with an eerie reddish glow. Neither Harry
nor Seven could make out who he was with the comparably bright
light in his back. Harry had a suspicion. It was confirmed when the
visitor began to speak, in a benevolent tone even.
"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing the two of you," he excused
himself in a deep, pleasant voice. It was the voice of the Alpha
Hirogen. Nobody knew it better than Harry. The young man tensed
up a bit at first, but when he realized that the Hirogen was still
playing the game, he relaxed somewhat. His senses and mind,
however, remained alert.
"Could I talk to you for a moment, Sir Harold?" the
Hirogen disguised as King Richard Cœur-de-Lion asked.
"Of course, Sire." Harry was all duty at once, pushing
himself up from the dirt floor. He followed the King's gesture and
met him outside the tent. The cool air outside was deliciously
sweet after the stale smell in the tent. "How can I be of service to
you, Sire?"
"I want to give two or three of my falcons to Sultan
Saladin," the Hirogen began. "I was wondering which ones were
suitable. I don't want to give away my best ones, but neither do I
want to insult the Sultan."
"I understand," Harry said.
"Well, I don't expect you to go and look at once, but I
would appreciate it if you had chosen two or three by tomorrow
morning," the Alpha said. Was there a mischievous twinkle in his
small black eyes? Harry wasn't sure in the flickering light.
"As you wish, Sire," the young man bowed.
"Well then, good night." With this, the Hirogen turned on
his heel and left Harry alone in front of the tent. He just couldn't
believe it himself. The Alpha hadn't recognized that he wasn't
under their control any more. It couldn't get any better. With a
triumphant gesture he returned to the darkness of the tent.
"What did he want?" Seven demanded.
"Something he won't get, if we're lucky," Harry explained.
"I'm pretty sure he won't disturb us again." This was invitation
enough for Seven to resume her work on the access panel of the
holodeck controls. In a matter of minutes she had rerouted the
circuits.
The safety protocols on their Holodeck were back online,
and with any luck the Hirogen wouldn't recognize this. With the
control to make minor changes in the detail of the program, they
could consider this round won.
=/\=
"Well, it's at least something," the Doctor sighed. "Please
ask Ensign Kim about his suspicion concerning the health of the
gel-packs," he instructed Seven after she'd reported to him on the
meanwhile so familiar bugproof channel. Carey was still with him
in Sickbay, waiting no less eagerly for the Ensign's theory on the
gel-packs. The sooner the engineer learned about the details the
better. Maybe the infection of the gel-packs was serious enough to
have the Hirogen end their sick games.
"Doctor?" Seven asked after a while of silence.
"We're listening, Seven," the Doctor assured her.
"Ensign Kim doesn't know anything in particular about an
infection of the gel-packs. It was just a suspicion he was having
before he was sent to the holodeck," Seven reported.
The Doctor sighed in frustration. "Thank you anyway,
Seven. Doctor out."
"How serious is the infection, Doctor?" Joe asked. "Is it as
bad as it has been with Neelix' cheese?"
"No, not yet, but ... " the Doctor's voice trailed off in mid-
sentence. "You've just got me wondering, Lieutenant."
Joe furrowed his brow in confusion. "And?" he pressed,
when the Doctor didn't make a move to explain himself.
"Do you still remember how vaccines work?" the Doctor
asked him instead.
"The pathogen is isolated, killed or weakened and
injected," Joe recited well-behaved.
"Exactly! If the pathogen from Neelix' cheese is the same
or similar to the new one, we can fight the infection easily. Since
it's airborne we'll just have to get it into ventilation and all gel-
packs are taken care of," the Doctor explained.
Carey went to the nearest computer console and searched
the logs for the reports on the cheese. He found what he looked for
in Neelix' collection of recipes. The Talaxian had produced the
cheese himself by means of a bacteria culture. The bacterium was
described very minutely in case it needed be synthesized
artificially. "Here they are, Doctor!"
The Doctor opened a window next to the display of the
cheese bacterium and compared the new Hirogen bacterium with it.
"They are identical!" the Doctor exclaimed in disbelief.
"Well, so much the better, at least we can trust the gel-packs to
take care of the Bacterium Casei Neelixis themselves. They fought
them once, they should be able to fight them now since they know
how to produce a counter-agent—without running a fever. Ha!"
Meanwhile Joe had gone green and was looking disgusted.
"I just remembered that I have actually tried some of this cheese."
"So much the better, you won't get afflicted with this
Hirogen cheese bacterium then."
"It isn't harmful to humanoids, if I remember it correctly,"
Carey shot back.
For once, the Doctor was not the one to have the last word.
Carey left Sickbay with a satisfied grin on his face that drove the
greenish hue away.
To be continued ...
Cœur de Lion
by Katie
Chapter 11
Bacterium Casei Neelixis
The Doctor's brow was deeply furrowed in concentration.
He'd hauled out a special analysis device for gel-packs from
somewhere in the lower drawers of his laboratory, and was now
setting the parameters for the check-up.
"It's good you came as soon as you've found it,
Lieutenant," the Doctor observed, putting the blue gel-pack with a
greenish hue into the device. Carey hadn't left yet, he wanted to
know about the result of the check. He flapped his tricorder open
and checked on the data he'd collected on the mechanical
components of the gel-packs earlier. Again, he was relieved to find
that everything was all right—at least with the technical part of the
business.
"Too bad that this time it's not the fault of Neelix's cheese.
We'd have an easy solution at hands then," Carey pointed out.
"Hmm, French cheese can be pretty sharp at times too, as I
recall," the hologram murmured. "But then, it'd be holographic
bacteria in this case, and I doubt that they could be of much harm
to our little friends here."
Carey gave this a moment's thought, then he wondered:
"Even with the security protocols off-line?"
"You haven't gotten them back on-line yet?" Carey's
remark had caught the Doctor's full attention. He spun around and
looked the Irish engineer directly in the eyes.
"No, I was repairing several relays when you called on me.
I wanted to finish this first before looking after the security
protocols, that's when I found the ill gel-pack," Carey explained
with his voice slightly stronger now that he had to defend himself.
Or at least he thought so.
"Well, yes, of course. You couldn't have managed this in a
matter of five minutes, now, could you?" the Doctor admitted, the
furrows on his brow softening something. "I guess, this entire
business is taking its toll on me as well. It's high time we did
something."
After Carey had made sure that *his* Hirogen guard had
settled for a talk with Sickbay's guard, he asked: "I thought you
were having a plan?"
"Yes, I do. But at first I wanted you to get those security
protocols back on-line. I think we'll have to change it a little bit. I
just wanted to make sure that the crew are in no danger any more
until I'd found the solution to the problem with my part," the
Doctor explained.
"What problem? Perhaps I ca ...," Carey offered, but the
hologram cut him short. "It's of a medical nature."
"Oh, I understand." For a minute they watched the device
completing the analysis of the gel-pack. Then something awful
dawned on the engineer. "You aren't working on a medical
treatment for the Hirogen's addiction to kill, are you?"
"No, after all what they've done to our crew? I admit that
I'm taking quite a lot out of the Hippocratic oath here, but since the
Hirogen don't seem to give a damn about it anyway, and
considering that Captain Janeway herself doesn't treat the Prime
Directive differently at times, so why can't I?" the hologram
defended himself.
Carey had to smile. "Don't worry, Doc. Your little secret
will be safe with me."
The Doctor looked at him in a way Carey couldn't quite
interpret, but before wondering about it too long, he settled for
gratefulness with a conspiratorial touch to it. The analysis device
had finished its job and announced this with a soft beep to the two
men. "Ah, it's finished."
He looked at the readout of the screen, and after skimming
through the data displayed on it, he did something Carey wouldn't
have thought him capable of. The holographic Doctor blanched.
Carey's brows knitted in curiosity, and he took a look for himself,
but in contrast to the Doctor he couldn't make any sense of the
data. "What is it, Doctor?"
"*I'm especially concerned about the health of the gel-
packs. I suspect the Hirogen to have brought a disease that might
infect them.*" the Doctor quoted. "Ensign Kim's very words. And
what did I do? I didn't listen to him!" He had curled his left hand
into a tight fist and slammed it into the top of the table with a force
that made the padds laying on it jump.
=/\=
From his stool at the bar Frank could observe Catherine's
guests, particularly Brückner and the other Nazis who had
withdrawn to a darker corner of the nightclub. With the tables and
chairs standing on a low podium that was surrounded by a railing,
one could easily talk about some kind of the Nazis' very own
private booth. Brückner had yet to live up to his promise of talking
to him. Frank was rather anxious about their interview. On the one
hand he wanted to get to know his enemy, on the other hand he
was hoping that his disguise wouldn't be busted.
Sabina had returned from her slightly prolonged break, and
now she was singing again, accompanied on the piano by Claude.
Brückner didn't make any move to have him come to him. Instead
he seemed to be enjoying the Italian woman's singing. To the
Hauptmann, it obviously didn't make any difference if either
Séverine or Sabina entertained them.
Frank turned to Paul behind the bar and wanted to ask him
what the time was, when he felt somebody touch his sleeve. Paul
who was drying off a glass with a towel pointed behind Frank's
shoulder with the towel in hand. Frank turned and looked down to
find his *mother* standing there with her hands on her hips, a little
breathless, and a satisfied expression in her face, the one of the
*I've been telling you*-kind.
"Maman," Frank said, hoping he sounded convincing
despite his being annoyed by her presence. "How nice to see you
here!"
"Ah, mon fils, apropos seeing each other," she began. Her
tone of voice bade no good, Frank knew that. So to ease the tension
a little bit he proffered her his stool to sit. "I can't see your lovely
wife anywhere. Where is she?" she said, without preamble.
Now, it had to be Catherine again, hadn't it? Why couldn't
she just stop picking on her? However, Frank suppressed a sigh of
frustration, and answered: "She doesn't feel quite well tonight.
Maybe she'll come down later on."
"Are you absolutely sure about it? I could have sworn that
I'd seen her a few streets away, kissing a young man. If only she
evinced so much passion for you as well ..." she let her voice trail
off. Frank had to admit she'd played to the gallery quite well, but
he knew Catherine better than allowing himself to believe the
venomous talk of a bored old woman that was full of hatred. But of
course ...
... did he blink in surprise at the latest realization which
was not the one about his wife, but that there was another person
inhabiting this body. Chakotay found that all of a sudden he'd
stopped observing the life of Frank Miller from somewhere outside
his body. Instead, his soul—as if it had been sedated or had taken
shore-leave—had suddenly returned into its very own body to take
over from here. Now there were to personas living in this body.
But one was the stronger one, and it was Chakotay who took over
from here, using Frank Miller's memories and feelings to play the
game. He realized quickly that he was on a holodeck, together with
Tuvok, who was standing behind the bar and drying glasses.
His realization of who he really was made Maman Leroux
believe that that what she'd just told him was having some effect on
him. "Maurice?"
"Oui, Maman," he replied, using Miller's knowledge of
French. "Are you really sure about that? Catherine would never
betray me, I know that."
"How foolish you are, son. Don't you think that in the long
time you've been away she's let her sheets cool down for one single
night?" Madame Leroux hissed.
Chakotay didn't know what to reply. The hatred of the
woman was so strong that he couldn't help pitying her. What a
poor, lonely old woman she had to be that she had to do something
like this. Catherine—or rather Kathryn—would never behave like
this, never, not after the passion she had been evincing for him.
And then it hit him with all its might. Kathryn and he ... they were
a couple, at least in this holographic simulation. Somehow he was
glad she wasn't here, witnessing all this. If she had regained her
consciousness of who she really was, yet? What was going on here,
after all?
He noticed the singer winking at him. It was Ensign
Wildman, and if he had interpreted her wink the right way, she
knew what was going on. At least one. He was about to order the
computer to stop the program, when the door opened, and a
Hirogen hunter dressed in a Nazi uniform came in. How could he
have forgotten that they had been enslaved by the Hirogen? It was
sure then, and certainly most wise, to keep playing the role of
Frank Miller.
But before Chakotay could act on it, B'Elanna stepped
towards them from behind. The first thing that struck Chakotay
about his friend was her pregnancy. A smile tugged on the corners
of his mouth, for he had never been able to picture B'Elanna
pregnant of all people. At second glance, though, he had to admit
that the child suited the Half-Klingon quite well. She looked less
*Klingon* that way.
Chakotay wasn't sure whether he was commenting on
Madame Leroux' revelation or B'Elanna's condition when he said,
absolutely flabbergasted: "I can't believe it."
"You'll accept it, son," old Madame Leroux commented
matter-of-factly. Then, in a triumphant tone, she added: "And who
do you think she was kissing, eh? That American boy who turned
Brigitte's head several years ago!"
The old woman hadn't noticed B'Elanna standing behind
her. Her voice sounded so completely unbelieving that Chakotay
realized at once that B'Elanna was still Brigitte.
"No," was the only word she said.
Madame Leroux turned to face her, and padded her cheek
in a condescending manner. "Yes, my dear. Your ... Bobby ... is
back. But he hasn't quite found his way, now that he's lying in the
arms of another woman. But who are you to speak, with that Nazi
bastard in there?" She stabbed her belly with a bony finger.
"Now, that's enough, mother!" Chakotay said, his voice
dangerously calm with anger. "We've gathered here to celebrate
my return, and you don't know any better than spreading the most
ugly and disgusting rumors?"
The old woman rose. "How dare you? You're talking to
your mother, young man!"
Chakotay closed his eyes to gather his inner calm. "Go.
You aren't the woman I remember to be my mother. Please go."
"You fools!" she spat. Until now they hadn't noticed that
this ugly scene was being observed by everybody in the nightclub.
The guests were staring at them in disbelief, not knowing how to
react. Most of them knew about the Leroux family history, but
none of them—not a single one—thought Catherine capable of
adultery. But what was that about the American in their town?
Paul had come forth from behind his realm. He gestured
for Madame to leave, and in perfect gentlemanly manner he
walked her to the door. Then he expressed his regrets for the ugly
scene to everybody present, and asked them—if possible—to
return to their conversations. Of course the atmosphere was
strained for a while, but soon people began shaking their heads
about the old hag.
Brigitte's face was ashen, and she was shaking her head in
disbelief. Somebody had pushed a chair to sit on underneath her.
After Chakotay had nodded at Wildman to go on singing, he
squatted in front of his friend and took the hand resting on her
thigh into his. Never before had he realized how minute her hands
were. She was caressing her belly with her other hand
absentmindedly. They remained like this for several minutes.
Eventually, she raised her head. Tears were rolling down
her cheeks. "Tell me this isn't true, François!" she said, her voice
small.
"She must have made this up, Brigitte," Chakotay lied.
Catherine had told him about Brigitte's lost love, and when he put
one and one together he realized that Bobby Davies—or should he
say Tom Paris?—was this lost love. "I'm sure, she must have made
this up. Catherine would never betray me." Chakotay was well
aware of the danger they were in. Old Leroux had told them that
there was an American in town, loud enough so even the Nazis in
their private booth could—must—have heard it in the deathly
quiet.
Without recognizing it, Brigitte had used the real name of
Maurice Leroux. Who had noticed her slip of tongue though, was
Brückner, who, concerned about his child, had come up behind
them unnoticed.
"François, it is, then? I was quite certain that your first
name is Maurice, Herr Leroux," he simply said, his child forgotten.
To Frank's relief, he'd obviously overheard the mentioning of the
Americans' presence in town.
=/\=
Catherine and Bobby had found an open window on the
first floor of the misused town hall through which they had
sneaked into the building. It had been child's play for Catherine to
open the shutter from the outside. Now they were stealing down
the hall to the stairs. According to Brigitte's description they had to
find the former mayor's office. There the Germans had put up their
radio equipment. Both Catherine and Bobby were wondering why
they had chosen to equip the radio station just there. The
Hauptmann had had his office set up in the same room.
They were almost alone in the building. Despite the critical
situation for the occupants, the building was deserted. Every thirty
minutes a patrol saw that everything was all right, but this was it.
The radio station was filled round the clock, they would have to
knock the soldier out. The last patrol had just vanished around the
corner to write their report in the doorman's office. So the two
intruders had plenty of time at their hands to sneak upstairs,
destroy the radio and close the shutters behind them as though
there'd never happened anything. Another party of two from the
Résistance was taking care of the telephone lines of the Hôtel de
Ville right now.
Catherine switched on her flash-light and headed for the
stairs. They could hardly see their own hands in front of their faces
because of the blackout. "Damn, it's dark in here," Bobby muttered
softly. Catherine didn't comment on this, she'd stopped
commenting on statements of the obvious long ago. Otherwise,
Paul would have driven her crazy.
When they reached the upper half-landing, they made sure
that they still were alone. Catherine thought she'd heard fabric rub
against fabric and heavy boots tapping the carpet, but she
dismissed the thought soon. Maybe her nerves were just playing
tricks on her.
Eventually, they found their way to the Hauptmann's
office. Catherine opened the door carefully, grateful that the
squeaking door had been oiled by the Nazis, just like Brigitte had
reported to her. She had to know, she'd worked here before the
occupation after all. The radio operator was working in the dim
glow of a lamp. It was casting bizarre shadows on the wall,
distorting the shapes of the furniture and artifacts into a dark
shapeless mass. As a child, Catherine had always seen monsters or
beasts of some kind in them, so when she slept, she never kept her
lamp on. Unlike others, she'd felt safer in complete darkness—it
was dark when she closed her eyes, after all.
The radio was turned off at the moment. The headphones
were laying on top of the radio. The radio operator had chosen the
radio silence to take a nap. His chin was resting on his breastbone
and he was snoring softly. This made it easier for the two dark
figures who were entering the room on tiptoes now. Bobby
produced something from the pocket of his jacket and clobbered
the sleeping man with it, sending him even further into the realm of
sweet dreams.
Catherine pushed the chair he was sitting in away and
started to manipulate the radio. Bobby checked the door, then he
went across the room to the window. Somebody had forgotten to
close the slats of the shutters. The cool moonlight was pouring in,
decorating the expensive carpet with bright beams. He peeped out,
finding the market place deserted. Only the moon was illuminating
the square, even the *Cœur de Lion* had set its compulsory
blackout up.
"How's it going?" Bobby whispered into Catherine's
general direction.
"I'm almost done," the French woman hissed back. She
produced a pair of pliers from the pocket of her trousers and cut
several wires she'd pulled out from the radio. When she had
finished, she stared puzzled at the tool in her right hand, and the
wires in the other. *What the ...* she wondered.
"Captain?" she heard a familiar voice ask her. Kathryn
turned around and found Tom Paris standing in front of her,
dressed in dark civilian clothes from another time and place.
"Tom," Kathryn said in disbelief. What were they doing
here? Subconsciously, she massaged the knot at the point where
her shoulder joined her neck. At first, she didn't recognize it, but
then she found a hard tiny spot beneath her skin. Kathryn lifted her
head and looked askance at her companion. "May I?"
Tom's eyebrows knitted, but before he could reply
anything, he felt his Captain's long fingers vanish beneath the
collar of his shirt. Her fingers were gently probing his skin at the
same place where she'd touched herself earlier. Then she found
what she was looking for. Tom felt it as her fingers stroked over
the skin, pressing it against the small something beneath it. "What
is this, Captain? Some kind of mind controlling device?"
"I guess so," Kathryn murmured, withdrawing her hand
from her pilot. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
Tom shook his head. "Nah, you didn't. Just don't tell
B'Elanna about it and everything will be fine," he quipped. This
remark eased the tension somewhat. While he was touching the
device under his skin himself now, both of them made their minds
up. And both of them knew what this was all about. They didn't
share the memories of their capture by the Hirogen and their roles
in their captors' sick game for nothing.
"Computer, status," Kathryn demanded.
The demand of the Captain remained unanswered.
"We have to regain control of the ship, or at least of the
holodeck," Kathryn decided. Without talking any further, they
started to frisk for a removable panel in the wall. They had to be on
a holodeck, there was no way anybody would put themselves into
the trouble of rebuilding a terran mid-twentieth-century building in
the middle of the Delta Quadrant. The Hirogen were far away from
the homeworld to hunt other people down, so where could they set
this up if not on Voyager?
"Here, I've got it!" Tom whispered as lowly as he could.
He had already removed the books hiding the access panel to
holodeck control.
"You won't need any help with this, will you?" Kathryn
said, knowing Tom's skill at holodeck programming.
"No, not really," Tom grinned, already engrossed in
studying the configurations.
"I'll watch our backs then," Kathryn told him. The patrol
wasn't due in another quarter of an hour, that left them at least a
little time. They could hide in here, Kathryn had made out some
great places to hide on the way to the door.
=/\=
She stared wide-eyed at their unasked visitor. He was
looming over them, the dim light pouring in from behind him
silhouetted his tall frame with an eerie reddish glow. Neither Harry
nor Seven could make out who he was with the comparably bright
light in his back. Harry had a suspicion. It was confirmed when the
visitor began to speak, in a benevolent tone even.
"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing the two of you," he excused
himself in a deep, pleasant voice. It was the voice of the Alpha
Hirogen. Nobody knew it better than Harry. The young man tensed
up a bit at first, but when he realized that the Hirogen was still
playing the game, he relaxed somewhat. His senses and mind,
however, remained alert.
"Could I talk to you for a moment, Sir Harold?" the
Hirogen disguised as King Richard Cœur-de-Lion asked.
"Of course, Sire." Harry was all duty at once, pushing
himself up from the dirt floor. He followed the King's gesture and
met him outside the tent. The cool air outside was deliciously
sweet after the stale smell in the tent. "How can I be of service to
you, Sire?"
"I want to give two or three of my falcons to Sultan
Saladin," the Hirogen began. "I was wondering which ones were
suitable. I don't want to give away my best ones, but neither do I
want to insult the Sultan."
"I understand," Harry said.
"Well, I don't expect you to go and look at once, but I
would appreciate it if you had chosen two or three by tomorrow
morning," the Alpha said. Was there a mischievous twinkle in his
small black eyes? Harry wasn't sure in the flickering light.
"As you wish, Sire," the young man bowed.
"Well then, good night." With this, the Hirogen turned on
his heel and left Harry alone in front of the tent. He just couldn't
believe it himself. The Alpha hadn't recognized that he wasn't
under their control any more. It couldn't get any better. With a
triumphant gesture he returned to the darkness of the tent.
"What did he want?" Seven demanded.
"Something he won't get, if we're lucky," Harry explained.
"I'm pretty sure he won't disturb us again." This was invitation
enough for Seven to resume her work on the access panel of the
holodeck controls. In a matter of minutes she had rerouted the
circuits.
The safety protocols on their Holodeck were back online,
and with any luck the Hirogen wouldn't recognize this. With the
control to make minor changes in the detail of the program, they
could consider this round won.
=/\=
"Well, it's at least something," the Doctor sighed. "Please
ask Ensign Kim about his suspicion concerning the health of the
gel-packs," he instructed Seven after she'd reported to him on the
meanwhile so familiar bugproof channel. Carey was still with him
in Sickbay, waiting no less eagerly for the Ensign's theory on the
gel-packs. The sooner the engineer learned about the details the
better. Maybe the infection of the gel-packs was serious enough to
have the Hirogen end their sick games.
"Doctor?" Seven asked after a while of silence.
"We're listening, Seven," the Doctor assured her.
"Ensign Kim doesn't know anything in particular about an
infection of the gel-packs. It was just a suspicion he was having
before he was sent to the holodeck," Seven reported.
The Doctor sighed in frustration. "Thank you anyway,
Seven. Doctor out."
"How serious is the infection, Doctor?" Joe asked. "Is it as
bad as it has been with Neelix' cheese?"
"No, not yet, but ... " the Doctor's voice trailed off in mid-
sentence. "You've just got me wondering, Lieutenant."
Joe furrowed his brow in confusion. "And?" he pressed,
when the Doctor didn't make a move to explain himself.
"Do you still remember how vaccines work?" the Doctor
asked him instead.
"The pathogen is isolated, killed or weakened and
injected," Joe recited well-behaved.
"Exactly! If the pathogen from Neelix' cheese is the same
or similar to the new one, we can fight the infection easily. Since
it's airborne we'll just have to get it into ventilation and all gel-
packs are taken care of," the Doctor explained.
Carey went to the nearest computer console and searched
the logs for the reports on the cheese. He found what he looked for
in Neelix' collection of recipes. The Talaxian had produced the
cheese himself by means of a bacteria culture. The bacterium was
described very minutely in case it needed be synthesized
artificially. "Here they are, Doctor!"
The Doctor opened a window next to the display of the
cheese bacterium and compared the new Hirogen bacterium with it.
"They are identical!" the Doctor exclaimed in disbelief.
"Well, so much the better, at least we can trust the gel-packs to
take care of the Bacterium Casei Neelixis themselves. They fought
them once, they should be able to fight them now since they know
how to produce a counter-agent—without running a fever. Ha!"
Meanwhile Joe had gone green and was looking disgusted.
"I just remembered that I have actually tried some of this cheese."
"So much the better, you won't get afflicted with this
Hirogen cheese bacterium then."
"It isn't harmful to humanoids, if I remember it correctly,"
Carey shot back.
For once, the Doctor was not the one to have the last word.
Carey left Sickbay with a satisfied grin on his face that drove the
greenish hue away.
To be continued ...