Episode 8-24 - Secrets and Lies
By: Janeway602 (janeway602@aol.com)

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager, its characters and related properties
are Registered Trademarks of Paramount Pictures. No infringement of
Paramount's copyrights is intended. Voyager Virtual Season 8 (VS8) is
a non-profit endeavor. The unique characters and milieu of VS8 are the
property of the VS8 producers and individual authors. This story is
the property of the author. Please do not repost without permission.

The first thing B'Elanna noticed when she rolled over was not the
insistent beeping of the comm console, but the image of the San
Francisco moonlight pouring in the window opposite the bed. In the
predawn hours, the light was slightly tinged with the warmth of the
sunlight that was yet to come. It was a serene image, as she lay still
as to not wake up her husband, an image she had waited over a month to
see. Though she enjoyed the time she spent working on the Montana
Project on Fulton Station, a part of her yearned to be here, on Earth,
with her daughter and husband.

She might have even fallen back asleep if she had not heard "Incoming
Subspace Communication" pierce through the silence. With a quick
glance to Tom -- who usually slept soundly and thus was not stirred by
the noise -- B'Elanna quietly but sluggishly dragged herself from
under the covers and to the desk in the opposite corner of the room.
If the sound was insisting on ruining her first night at home, the
least she could do was find out what it wanted.

Settling herself into the chair, after having put on the robe that was
draped neatly on it, accepted the incoming message. 'Incoming Message'
disappeared from the screen, replaced first by black for a moment, and
then by the image of a very familiar face.

"Chakotay!" B'Elanna exclaimed. Her brain suddenly reminded her of the
sleeping man still in bed and the child in the room next to them, and
she immediately lowered her voice to a whisper. "Don't take this the
wrong way, Chakotay -- I'm happy to hear from you, really -- but 3:30
in the morning?"

There was a look of confusion that crossed his face for a moment,
which was quickly replaced by a smile. "3:30. Damn, I forgot about the
time difference. I'm really about this, B'Elanna. I'll call back
later, when you're more-"

B'Elanna interrupted waving her hand. "No, no, Chakotay. You've
already gotten me up, so you might as well tell me what's on your
mind," she managed to catch a glimpse of the room he was sitting in,
and didn't recognize anything in the background. She theorized that
the lack of identifiable personal objects ruled out the possibility of
it being his own house, "starting with where you are exactly."

B'Elanna swore she saw embarrassment and heard it in his voice as he
answered. It sounded almost like he wished she hadn't asked that
question. "I'm, uh, staying with an old friend for a few days." Pause.
"New York, Lake George."

Lake George. B'Elanna racked her brain, the name so familiar to her.
And then it clicked. "Doesn't Janeway have a house up there?" She
continued when he didn't answer immediately. "I thought I remember her
once mentioning spending a summer up there. I could be wrong, though,
considering the hour."

He nodded his head with a smooth and languid motion. "Yeah. Yeah, she
does." An afterthought struck him. "But I haven't seen her at all."

B'Elanna was about to ask why he was so vehement that he had not
spoken to Janeway when she could no longer suppress the yawn that
exploded from her mouth. She politely tried to hide it from Chakotay,
but to no avail. She quickly apologized.

"I don't care what you say, B'Elanna," Chakotay replied, "you need
some sleep, and I'm not going to be accused of keeping you from it."

"Chakotay-"

"No, no arguing." He paused. "I was just looking for someone to talk
to, and I guess I'll have to call later."

B'Elanna sighed in defeat; he *was* right, after all. She was tired as
hell, and he was barely keeping her up. A thought popped into her
brain. "Janeway."

The fact that Chakotay suddenly became rigid at the mention of her
name was an observation her sleep-deprived brain failed to notice.

"What about her?"

B'Elanna sighed and smiled. "Talk to *her*, Chakotay; she's hell of a
lot closer than I am, not to mention more alert."

His thoughts lingered visibly. "Maybe. Anyway, I think she mentioned
something about visiting her mother and sister in Indiana."

The answer threw B'Elanna for a mini-loop. Neither of his answers
about Janeway -- first that he hadn't seen her, second that she wasn't
there -- couldn't possibly both be true. He either saw her or he
didn't. She wondered why this bit of information was so secretive.

But he said his goodbyes quickly, not giving her tired brain time to
process the information and form the proper questions about his
intentions.

***

Lieutenant Emily Harrison stepped off the small Starfleet shuttle and
into the harsh sunlight of the desolate planet. Immediately there was
a rush of heat that seemed to roll from the mountains that were
kilometers away. She ran her free hand across her forehead and could
already feel the beads of perspiration building along her hairline.
Glancing at the gray pack she carried, she thanked her lucky stars she
had picked an extra canteen of water and stepped off towards the main
camp.

This assignment was one she had never expected, but certainly wouldn't
have rejected. She had formerly been assigned as a teaching assistant
to one of the archaeology professors at the Academy, but her dream was
not to teach. It was to dig. Based out of Fulton Station, it was the
Analysis and Research Team's job to just that. So when she learned
they were rounding up team members for excavations, she couldn't
believe she had been chosen. The fact that the project was shrouded in
such secrecy -- she was forbidden to discuss specifics with family and
friends -- made it even more desirable than a run-of-the-mill search
for Romulan artifacts. But she was a trustworthy individual; she would
never think of divulging classified Starfleet information, and the
unusual man overseeing the briefing had made sure of that.

All she knew was that the excavations related to the information
leaked from the Janeway court martial about a race called the Sernaix.
Apparently, there had been some sort of accident, and teams were being
sent to excavate and investigate, but information beyond that -- like
how it related to a space station where starships were developed --
was not forthcoming.

Lieutenant Harrison had been ordered to report to the main camp --
which was nothing more than a large tent set up around computer
terminals -- when she arrived on the planet. It was several meters
away from landing spot, and as the dust settled from the shuttle, a
group of team members moving in a decidedly chaotic way became
apparent around the tent. As she moved closer, individual voices were
heard over the general hum of the crowd.

"Watch yourself!"

"Get him up!"

"Sir, you have to take a look at this!"

"Get a sheet to put under it!"

"Out of the way!"

"Don't disturb it!"

"Get out of the way!"

Harrison fought her way through the gathering diggers so that she
might see what had caused all the attention. She watched the rather
old-fashioned crane system pulling a large piece of debris --
Starfleet-issue gray, she noticed -- out of a deep crater-like hole.
She wasn't sure what had caused the impression in the earth: constant
digging or an impact.

As the debris was settled onto the ground, and the officer Harrison
recognized as Commander Sean Hamilton and another man pushed through
the crowd, it became clear that another object was resting on the
fragment that resembled the piece of a hull. It was wrapped in a
dirty, albeit bright, red sheet, and as she focused on it more she
realized the sheet's form resembled that of a human being. Harrison
hadn't been aware that they were searching for casualties.

"A body," the crowed seemed to murmur collectively. Apparently, she
noted, no one else was prepared for the discovery.

Hamilton knelt down beside the fragment, and pulled the sheet away
from the body's face. Momentarily, the crowd was granted a look: he
was a human male, no distinguishing characteristics about his face,
dark hair. In the moment she was allowed, he struck her as familiar,
but she couldn't make sense of it. He pondered the man for a moment,
replaced the sheet, and stared his companion in the face.

"Send a subspace message to Medical," he ordered, "and tell
Intelligence we found him."

'Him,' Harrison listened. They knew who this man was?

Hamilton was already on his feet and was about the break through the
crowd again when his companion's voice broke through the silence. "I
recommend he make a stop at Intelligence first."

The commander stopped in his tracks.

"Excuse me?"

"I recommend this man be sent to Intelligence first."

Hamilton stepped closer to his companion. "For God's sake, give it a
rest. The Maquis problem has been resolved, Thompson, there's no need
to quarantine this body anymore." He paused. "The least we can do is
give this man a proper burial and a death certificate."

The debate, however, was far from over. Harrison realized there was
more to this than what was in front of them.

"I'm under strict orders, sir, that any bodies found should be sent to
Intelligence before any additional personnel handle them."

"'Strict orders'? How come I was never informed of these 'strict
orders'?"

"Perhaps Intelligence did not find it necessary to inform you, sir."

Hamilton's eyes blazed. "I'm in charge here!"

His companion -- Thompson -- did not waiver. In fact, Harrison noted,
his expression resembled that of a Vulcan. The meaning under their
words bothered her. The two raged a silent battle; their eyes fighting
a war words could not.

"Fine," Hamilton finally conceded, when the silence had become too
much, "let Intelligence know."

The commander begrudgingly pushed his way back through the crowd of
onlookers, and Harrison swore she heard him mumbling to himself.

"Makes you wonder who's in charge here."

***

Harry tried concentrating on the engineering panel in front of him,
but the officer's constant pacing was distracting him. Back and forth
the man had been walking, from one end of the engineering room to the
other, each time stopping behind a different panel. On four separate
occasions that morning, he had hovered behind Harry, watched intently
as commands were entered and simulations were tested, but each time,
the man said nothing. He simply watched and remembered.

Five days ago the station's commander himself had escorted Commander
Carl Grant into the engineering section, and from that moment Harry
had felt the isolation. Sent from Starfleet, he was there to, in
Vargas' words, "streamline final preparations" on the prototype.
Grant's cool detachment from his duty and those around him had set him
apart from the project leaders and the station's command team. But it
was more than just his unwillingness to shake the rigid professional
demeanor: there was something about Grant that...to be honest, Harry
didn't know what Grant's behavior struck him as being. Odd? Unusual?
It simply didn't sit right with him.

Grant always seemed to gravitate towards whatever station he or Seven
were working at. At first, Harry had chalked it up to the fact that he
was the Engineering Design Head and she, by all accounts, was the most
skilled member of the team. Throw in the fact that half of Starfleet
Command held their breath every time she pressed a button, and he
might have had a reasonable excuse for hesitating the way he did. But
had things been different, had she really been the security risk
Vargas believed her to be when she first boarded Fulton Station, his
behavior towards her would have suggested he was there...to keep tabs
on them.

However, the fact that the scheduled Starfleet inspection was less
than a month away forced Harry to overlook his initial doubts.

Grant's pacing was beginning to unnerve him, and Harry was thankful to
see Seven moving from her previous station and moving in his
direction. Though her destination was apparently elsewhere, Harry
managed to grab her arm and pull her aside. Leaning close, he
whispered, "that man is giving me the creeps."

Immediately his gaze was beyond her, but the commander saw none of the
exchange. Seven replied with a solid expression. "Lieutenant, 'that
man' is Commander Grant," she corrected him, "and I'm sorry if I can't
sympathize with your observation that he 'gives you the creeps.'"

The way she repeated the phrase made it sound juvenile in his mind.
Maybe it was. Grant was turning on his heels near the end of the
engineering section, and Harry instinctively pulled them closer to the
panel he was working at, which luckily was located along a wall
recessed from the rest of the controls. They were at least somewhat
shielded from Grant's eyesight.

"Not one bit?" he prodded.

Seven peered her head out from behind the wall to glance at Grant a
second time before answering, but the remark Harry expected did not
come. Instead, she stared at the man as he approached. He swore he
could see the gears inside her brain turning as she observed the
commander.

She nodded in the appropriate places as Icheb spoke. But her
attention was primarily focused on two individuals on the other side
of the beverage table. She studied them carefully. She didn't
recognize them as either members of the Voyager crew or associates
thereof. Who were they?

They were both male, apparently Human. They wore civilian clothing
rather than Starfleet uniforms, and then seemed to slink around the
room, almost lurking in the shadows yet acting incredibly casual at
the same time. Somehow, she sensed they didn't belong here, but she
found their presence more curious than threatening.

She thought about informing Captain Janeway, but then dismissed her
suspicions. Her recent ordeal was apparently making her overly wary.
They were probably just a crewman's family members or friends whom she
hadn't met yet, so she dismissed them as irrelevant and returned her
focus to Icheb.

"Seven?" Harry touched her arm, and suddenly she was back in reality.
"Seven, are you okay?"

Though her focus had been lost for the moment, she quickly recovered
it. "I am fine, Lieutenant," she replied.

His hand lingered longer on her arm, but she didn't seem to notice. Or
care. Harry sensed her hesitation. "Are you sure? You spaced out on me
there."

Twice she opened her mouth, intent on speaking, and then shut it
again. "Commander Grant," she paused, as if the words had left her
momentarily, and then continued, "resembles a man I have seen before."

"Where?"

"At Voyager's decommissioning," she replied, "I witnessed two men
wandering among the crowd, men I did not recognize."

"How come you haven't mentioned this before?"

"I thought nothing of it at the time."

"And now?"

"Now," she stopped. Harry wasn't sure if she even had an answer to his
question. "I believe it is possible," he was about jump on the answer,
but she wasn't done, "but it is unlikely. What possible motivation
would Commander Grant have to be there?"

Harry couldn't help it if his eyes lit up at the thought of how they
could remedy the problem. He had been a bright and eager ensign once,
and sometimes he hated when it seeped into his current demeanor.
"Maybe," he suggested, "we should find out."

"What are you suggesting, Lieutenant?"

"His personnel file. Maybe," he paused, "it will give us some clue as
to whom he reports to."

Seven looked Harry in the eye and nodded. Then quietly she slipped
back into the engineering hallway and to her original destination.

***

Mateth watched the hundreds of small ships swarming around the one
large ship. To him they resembled insects converging on a single hive.
Except these insects had no collective hum, no sound of any kind to
announce their presence. And unlike someone who observes insects,
these swarms were thousands of light-years away.

That, of course, in no way diminished their capability.

The Sernaix had been a threat before the Voyager had arrived, but
their crude understanding of the universe and their place in it had
kept them at bay for thousands of years. Yet even when they had
mistaken her crew for their longtime enemies, Mateth had been
convinced their own propensity for infighting would cause them to
forget about Voyager long enough for them to escape.

Except the Sernaix never forgot.

The new information he had received weighed heavily on his mind as he
watched ships enter and exit the massive structure the Sernaix called
their Node ship. They had stayed isolated for long enough, and their
assistance was now necessary. Mateth knew he possessed the power and
the authority to order a shift, but what Mateth also possessed was a
sense of fairness. He had never been one to make decisions lightly or
rashly, and it was this trait that had kept the Ayrethans so well
protected for so long.

He knew what he had to do.

Signaling for his assistant, he leaned in close and dictated the
message he wished to send. 'The council shall meet immediately.' The
assistant was breaking away when Mateth caught him by the arm. Pulling
him close, he whispered the final order into the assistant's ear.

"Nethma and Ipthar will hear none of this, understood?"

Briefly, the image of a meager assistant betraying the two remaining
elders flashed across his face. "Yes, Speaker."

***

There was a worn path in the trees that had been formed by years of
taking this very shortcut through the dense trees from the transport
sight to her house. The lieutenant at the padd in New York City,
recognizing her from the newsreels he'd seen, had been more than
willing to bend the rules and put her down within three meters of her
house; in the end, she had denied the royal treatment, instead opting
for the "scenic route."

The warm Indiana breeze smelled much like it did years ago, before her
ship left for the Badlands, before she left for the Academy, before
her first memory of her younger sister...it was the one constant
Kathryn always enjoyed when she visited home. That, she thought, and
the people that always greeted her.

A week ago her sister had mentioned quite casually that she was going
to take a break from her busy business life and visit Gretchen for the
weekend. What Phoebe hadn't realized was her sister was remembering a
promise she had made to her mother, a promise to visit and share an
evening with her family, and was planning to use the opportunity to
fulfill that promise. Besides, after last night, she thought she owed
it to her mother and sister.

Lost in thought Kathryn was startled by the brush of matter against
her legs. She glanced to see the small puppy butting her head against
her ankle, looking up at her with expectant and gleeful eyes. Janeway
stopped, crouching down to lovingly pet the animal. "You like it here,
don't you, girl?" The puppy responded by licking her face and letting
out a playful yelp. "That's what I thought."

Facing away from the old farmhouse she missed the creaking the screen
door that had forever needed just a little oil. She didn't hear the
sound of footsteps as they thudded across the creaky wood porch that
was almost as old as the house itself. She missed the thud the screen
door made as it collided with the doorframe.

"Kathryn?"

Gretchen Janeway stood on the steps of her porch, watching her oldest
daughter quietly cuddle with the small puppy. Aside from hair that was
significantly shorter, stature that was taller, and looking a little
skinny than one would expect for her shape, it was as if Kathryn had
never aged past ten years old.

When Kathryn turned and smiled at her mother's call, Gretchen noticed
the glow in her daughter's face. It was a glow she had seen once
before, when her daughter had raced home -- rather than a simple
subspace message -- to announce that she had been given her first
captaincy aboard the USS Voyager. But this, her mother pondered, this
was different. It reminded her of the first time Kathryn had brought
Justin Tighe home, her radiant smile offsetting his visible nerves.
Gretchen wondered what -- or who -- could have produced such a similar
reaction, and that if her daughter realized the joy her face showed.

"Mom," she acknowledged with a grin, abandoning the puppy for a moment
to throw her arms around her mother, the two gathering each other in a
hug. "I missed you so much."

"I did, too." They remained in the embrace for a moment longer, slowly
pulling away with the beginnings of tears in both of their eyes. "You
look much better, Kathryn." She was, of course, referring to the last
time she had seen her daughter. Her face wasn't showing the signs of
wear and tear, stress and boredom. No, today, she seemed to be-

"Kath?"

If it was possible, Kathryn's face lit up more. "Phoebe!"

Another hug ensued. "Kathryn, what are you doing here?" Phoebe
exclaimed. Her sister, instead, smiled only a wicked grin, and Phoebe
realized why. "I've believe I've been had," she stated, which earned a
smile and a shake of the head from her mother. The sisters giggled.

The small puppy, which had previously been sitting obediently on the
grass, took the time to announce his lack of attention. "Who's this?"
Phoebe asked, crouching down to greet the adorable puppy, which
greatly obliged by licking her hand as she pet her.

"I named her Amelia," Kathryn replied. "She was a gift from," she
paused, pondering how she should word her response, "a friend."

"A friend," her sister repeated. As Kathryn bent over to pick up the
puppy, Phoebe managed to steal a glance at her mother. She mouthed 'a
friend?' again, which received only a raised eyebrow.

There was a pause in the conversation that only Phoebe and Gretchen
felt as uncomfortable. They were the bumbling relatives of a long-
forgotten hero; their mouths full of things to say and not enough time
nor words to say them in. Of course, Kathryn never noticed. Her
attention was drawn, for the moment, toward Amelia.

"We can't stay out here forever," Gretchen said, casting a glance at
the ever-dwindling sun and hoping her daughter would get the hint.
"Why don't we go inside and we'll set an extra place at the table?"

Kathryn shook her head with a grin. "Mom, don't treat me like a guest
-- I'll set my own place." Gretchen raised her arms to protest, but
Kathryn already had one foot on the steps, mumbling sweetly to Amelia
about the farmhouse. Gretchen smiled, and started up the stairs, too.

She had just conquered the first step when she felt her younger
daughter's hand resting gently on her arm. She turned, and Phoebe's
eyes brightened as she glanced furtively into the house at a
retreating Kathryn. "Do you see it?"

"See what?" Gretchen knew exactly what she was talking about.

"The glow when she smiles." Phoebe paused. "She never glows that much
when she smiles."

Gretchen raised her eyebrows in a Vulcan-like manner. "Maybe she's
just happy to be home, Phoebe."

She sighed. "Maybe."

***

The council meeting room was a simple one: there was one door in and
out, and it locked from the inside. There were no windows, and only a
single light that hung above the table. The walls were made from a
thick material that not only insulated the room during the colder
months on Ayrethia, but also kept all sounds on the inside. Some of
the most heated argument would not have been heard even if one's ear
were pressed hard against the wall. There was an antiquated intercom
system that allowed messages from outside to be transmitted in, should
the urgency of a situation so call for it. It had never used.

The council table was shaped like a tear, with Mateth sitting
prominently at the tip of the tear. Around the round base sat the ten
council members, each one representing one of Ayrethia's provinces;
they were spaced evenly so that no two representatives were closer or
further apart from one another. All but one chair was occupied -- that
of Mateth -- and when the single door slid open to admit him, the
meeting had officially been called to order.

Mateth took his seat, and no one said a word. "Gentlemen," he began,
"I've called you together today to discuss business of the utmost
importance." This statement was, in fact, redundant because meetings
such as this were hardly taken lightly.

A voice Mateth didn't take the time to identify spoke up. "Shouldn't
we wait until Elders Ipthar and Nethma arrive-"

The Speaker waved the man's comment off. "Elders Ipthar and Nethma
will not be joining us this afternoon. And," he hesitated as he spoke,
"I ask that you discuss this meeting with no one. Including our two
remaining Elders."

The council understood Mateth's words. He continued. "I would like to
take a quick opportunity to apologize to those members who are unaware
of the reason this meeting has been called. No malice was intended by
your being left out, I assure you." He paused. "As most of you are
aware, intelligence reports indicate that despite their failure the
first time, the Sernaix are regrouping and are planning a second
attack on the Earth homeworld. However, reports also indicate that
where the first plan failed, the second will be successful. Time,
gentlemen, is of the essence."

The silence lasted only long enough for the youngest member of the
council, Repah, to speak up. He represented the province further from
the central city, and his views often differed from the counsel on
several issues. "Are you saying that this second attack could actually
hurt the Federation?"

Mateth nodded solemnly. "That is what the reports indicate."

Repah shook his head, and Mateth braced himself for the brash comment
that was about to come. "Then your reports are wrong. The Sernaix gave
it what they had, and they don't have anything else. The only way this
next attack, if there even is one-"

"-there will be-"

"-is if the Sernaix have allies." A moment passed before Repah
continued. "Aside from us, who could possibly aid them in an attack?
The rest of cultures in this galaxy have invested all of their
resources in hiding from the Sernaix."

"Perhaps the Inryeth are assisting them," suggested an older council
member. His obese body shook as he chuckled. "I'd put nothing past
those people."

Repah looked at the man and shook his head, unable to hide the small
smile forming on his lips. "Tokam, they may be deviants, but the
Inryeth are just as scared as the rest of them. The fact that we
haven't heard or seen one of them in thousands of years proves my
point."

"Maybe that means they've finally transcended themselves."

The room chuckled. Everyone expected Tokam to bring up the Inryeth in
the debate -- he always managed to tie his hatred for those people
into any debate about any topic -- but most were surprised he had
jumped in as quick as he did. Mateth even caught himself chuckling a
little.

"Back to the issue at hand, gentlemen," Mateth finally said, eager to
steer the meeting back its purpose, "whether or not the Sernaix
succeed, the fact that the possibility is strong calls for immediate
action by our own forces." He paused, hoping to gauge the reaction of
the members. "I have concluded that the only possible solution would
be a phase shift."

The statement produced a small fervor of activity and whispering. This
reaction Mateth observed closely. "I'm correct in assuming that you
are all aware of the procedure?"

A third member, Lopel, spoke up. "We know what is it, Mateth, we're
just not convinced of its usefulness."

"You said so yourself that the Sernaix might not succeed," suggested
Repah. "If that's correct, we might have to wait another thousand
years before we can attempt another shift."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," replied Mateth. His attention was
then directed at the entire room once more. "What I'm looking for is
what my council members think." He glanced surreptitiously to the man
on his right. "I never enjoyed making decisions my council didn't
back."

Not too surprisingly, it was Repah who managed the first word.
Inwardly, despite his differing views, Mateth was proud of the younger
member's advances. He had grown so much in a year. "And I speak solely
on my own behalf here," began Repah, "but I have never been too
comfortable about making decisions with so many variables. We don't
know when there's going to be an attack, of what magnitude, whether or
not someone is aiding the Sernaix, or why exactly they want to attack
Earth."

Mateth noticed that he had left out his earlier objection to the
plausibility of a Sernaix attack. He wondered if this was intentional.

Lopel spoke up again. "They're convinced those humans are the people
that put them in that Realm of theirs."

Tokam gestured to Mateth that he wished to speak. One of the oldest
members at the table, Tokam's prejudiced views were often preceded by
an adherence to the old customs of courtesy. It was this that allowed
Mateth to often overlook Tokam's comments.

"What if we just told them the truth, gave them the Inryeth?"
suggested Tokam. "You'd kill two birds with one stone, Mateth."

Again, the room chuckled. Mateth knew he should have expected that.

Mateth stood up. "Gentlemen," he started, his voice harsher than
before, "you're straying from the point yet again. We're here to
debate whether or not the shift should take place. All other arguments
are moot and therefore have no place in this room." The room was
silent. "Now, I'm ready to hear what you think."

There was tentativeness in the air, as each of the council members
expected another to begin the debate. Mateth did not enjoy having to
scare the counsel in submission, but if it got them to listen and it
got his issue to pass just a little quicker, he'd keep his voice
raised more often.

Mateth was surprised, and yet not, to see young Repah gesture that he
wished to speak. Beaming inwardly with the pride of having raised the
member as if he were a child, he allowed him to speak. "I'm against
it," Repah said. "The Sernaix have proven once before that when they
put their heads together they only end up killing themselves. Maybe
this time they'll finish the job." Having gotten the first word, the
room was buzzing with activity, as each member leaned to their
neighbor and whispered something. "Besides, our problems here are
enough to keep us occupied for a century. We don't need anymore."

The debate had officially begun, and Mateth couldn't help but be in
agreement with everything Repah had said.

***

The main meal was long finished, and the three women were each on
their fourth or fifth cup of Phoebe's hand-brewed coffee, but neither
one of the three Janeway women showed signs of weariness or
exhaustion. They had laughed their way through the meal, mostly at
Kathryn's stories.

"Let me get this straight," Phoebe began, her voice unbelieving,
"these-what did you call them?-"

"Photonic lifeforms."

"These photonic lifeforms thought the holodeck characters
were...real?"

Kathryn laughed. "That's right."

"Despite the fact the environment was monochromatic and the main
character had a walking, talking piece of metal as protection?"

She nodded. "Despite the fact."

"Hmph." Phoebe raised her cup of coffee, but instead of drinking from
it, merely inspected the rim. "Doesn't make much sense, if you ask
me."

The conversation lulled for a while, as the women took sips from their
respective cups of coffee. They had slipped into that awkwardness
again, much as they had a few hours ago, and neither of them knew the
proper thing to say. So many question, so little time.

"Phoebe," Gretchen suddenly suggested, "you haven't told Kathryn about
Patrick, have you?"

Kathryn interest piqued. "No," she answered for her sister, "she
hasn't."

Phoebe heaved a very heavy sighed, the one she often made when she had
to repeat something over and over. Apparently, Patrick was a well-
known individual in the Janeway household. "Patrick. He's a journalist
in Paris. I met him on a business trip three years ago. Thought he was
the love of my life; turned out I was wrong." Her lips curled into a
smile. "I think I fell for the accent."

"How long did this go on?"

"A year and a half. Kathryn, I'll swear to it, he had to have had
multiple personalities. Either that, or he could never make up his
mind about which persona he thought would impress me the most."

She added quickly, "I did learn one bit of French throughout the
experience." She changed her posture, adopting a clich‚d 'suave'
demeanor. "'Tu ne me mets jamais au courant de rien!'" She
waited just long enough to see Kathryn's face dissolve into confusion.
"'You never tell me anything!'"

Kathryn laughed. Phoebe eased accidentally into the logical sequence
of the conversation. "What about you Kath?" Gretchen, too, was
intrigued to hear the answer. "Care to share with your sister any
romantic prospects?"

If this had been any other situation, Kathryn might have laughed at
the juvenile way in which her sister had formed her question. It
reminded her of when they were kids. But she had noticed her mother
hedging around the topic all night; she had heard her and her sister
speaking in whispered tones when she had first arrived. To be honest
with herself, she didn't know if she was ready to admit to even
herself of the answer to that question. The previous night had thrown
her for a loop, and yet...

"Kath?"

Her sister had startled her from her thoughts. "Hmm?"

She sniggered. "You were trancing out on me there. Did you hear what I
asked you?"

"Yeah," she answered quickly. She locked eyes with her sisters. "Sorry
to disappoint you, Phoebe, but-"

"No one?" her sister interrupted incredulously. Kathryn shook her
head. She didn't particularly enjoy lying to her sister.

And then she caught the expression on her sister's face. It told what
her words or voice could not. Phoebe knew, her face said, Phoebe knew
Kathryn was lying. She caught Kathryn staring for the elongated
moment, and quickly directed her gaze towards their mother, but the
damage had been done. Phoebe knew. Kathryn knew Phoebe knew. Phoebe
knew that Kathryn knew that-

"Anyone care for more coffee?" Gretchen announced.

***

As soon as the doors shut, Harry was locking it while Seven was
already making her way to the computer terminal. "Are you sure this is
secure?" he asked as he punched in the code.

"I am." She was already accessing the information. "These guest
quarters are hardly ever used, and the likelihood that this terminal
is being monitored by any outside parties is marginal."

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Then let's find out who's buried in
Grant's tomb."

Seven stopped. "I do not understand the meaning of your statement."

Of all the things, Harry thought. "Never mind," he replied. Perhaps
she hadn't spent enough time with Tom after all.

There was silence as she worked; it didn't take much effort to access
his file, since all personnel files were in an easy-to-access
database. They weren't something that were meant to be hidden. Easily,
he thought.

"Grant, Carl J.," he read. "Born February 20, 2346 in Ohio. Graduated
from Starfleet Academy in 2364. Previously the first officer aboard
the USS Lakeshore." Harry paused. "That's odd."

Seven, who had been listening to him read as she searched the database
thoroughly, replied, "What?"

"Well," he stopped, not sure what to make of what he read, "by all
accounts, Commander Grant's career ended five years ago." And then he
realized something else. "Seven, his assignment to Fulton Station
isn't in here."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he said. "After the Lakeshore assignment, there's
nothing."

Seven spoke, her fingers flying over the keypad. "I've found a
significant amount of classified information regarding Commander
Grant. Some of it is housed here in Fulton Station's computer, in
encrypted form."

Harry's interest piqued. "Can you decrypt it?"

"I believe so."

Suddenly, an alarm claxon sounded. Seven and Harry exchanged looks.
"Dammit," he said, "we've been detected." He was already to the door
and entering the code to cancel the lock when he realized Seven wasn't
on his heels. "Seven, what the hell are you doing? We have to get out
*now*."

She tapped away, not turning her head to face him. "I've almost
completed the decryption."

"It doesn't matter anymore," he fumed. "Cover your tracks and get
out!"

She stared long and hard at him, and Harry thought for sure the
hesitation was going to cost them. Then she turned back, backtracking
her steps in the computer, and quickly joined him at the door.

"Let's get out of here."

***

Mateth glanced around his council table, finding another young face.
It was Kalet, who had only joined the council six months earlier. His
voice was hardly ever heard, and he generally seemed to vote with the
majority of the group.

"Kalet," Mateth asked, "what do you think?"

Unlike his counterpart in age, Kalet was not one to be put on the
spot. His physical reaction to the prompt proved he had never
expressed any interest in explaining his position. Instead, he would
sit back, wait for the majority opinion to raise itself, and then vote
accordingly.

The man's voice was quiet and timid. "Ah, sir, you seem to have your
mind already made up, so I don't see the point in consulting with the
counsel, sir."

Mateth chuckled at the young man's response. "You make an excellent
observation, Mr. Kalet, but the first thing a Speaker learns is that
regarding such an important decision, no matter what his opinion is,
it is this council that really decides. So," and he paused for a
second so that the entire group might hear him, "I do value what is
said in here."

Kalet took a deep breath, and adopted a mature tone to his voice.
"Then, sir, I support a shift." He waited, hoping to gauge to reaction
from the group. There was none; at least, not a noticeable one. He
continued. "The Ayrethan culture is obvious superior to that of the
Sernaix. Are we to abandon this opportunity to prove to them -- and
the rest of the galaxy, I might add -- of this superiority?"

Mateth took a long gaze at the young man. "Is what you say true," he
asked, "that you believe Ayrethia as a whole would benefit from this
shift because we are superior?"

"Yes, sir."

He nodded long and hard. A thought struck him. "Kalet, may I ask you
something?" The young man nodded in acceptance. "Is this really your
opinion, or do you think that an assertion to our superior would
please me?"

Mateth could not deny the look of shock that crossed Kalet's face. At
first, he seemed to take offence to the remark, but the solid exterior
he portrayed quickly absorbed the reaction. "It is my opinion, sir,"
quickly adding, "although I will not deny that I aim to please."

The Speaker could not help but chuckle to himself. "Young man, the
first thing you need to learn if your spot here on this council is to
be guaranteed is that the last thing you should ever do is try to
please someone." He paused. "I don't want to be pleased, I don't want
to be blindly agreed with. I want to know when I'm wrong, when I'm
overstepping my boundaries." Mateth let the small speech sink into the
young council member before he continued. "Kalet, do you believe I'm
overstepping by recommending a shift?"

"No, sir, I do not."

***

The door to Harry's quarters seemed to take an hour to slide shut.
Breathlessly he punched in the security code on the door, locking it
so any intruders who might have pursued them would be kept out.

They stood in silence for a moment.

"What do you think it means?" Harry finally asked.

Seven straightened. "Like I stated earlier, the fact that you seem to
consistently meet Commander Grant in the hallways could simply be a
coincidence. Perhaps you and him simply take the same route to the
commissary."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Seven pressed on. "And you
could simply be misinterpreting the commander's behavior as suspicious
because you are not used to having someone monitoring your progress on
the prototype-"

"What about *you*, Seven?" She did not answer. "You said so, yourself:
he looks just like one of those guys you said you saw at Voyager's
decommissioning. Can you explain, too?"

She paused, and Harry thought for a second that he had caught the snag
in her theory. "I could be mistaken; the two men I saw could really
have been members of the family of one of the Voyager crewmen that I
am unfamiliar with. This is not an unlikely possibility."

Harry couldn't contain the anger building inside him. "Can't you see
what's right in front of you?"

"You believe this man has an affiliation with Section 31."

"Damn right."

Seven was silent for a moment. "Starfleet regularly classifies parts
of an officer's personnel file in the interest of security. Isn't it
reasonable to assume that this is case with Commander Grant?"

"Up until now, Commander Grant hardly had a very eventful career," he
gestured to himself, "and yet he has more classified information in
his file than I do."

"If you correct," Seven began, "if this man really does have an
affiliation with Section 31, Captain Janeway asked to be informed if
anything developed on the issue. Perhaps we should contact her; she
might know how we are to proceed."

Even before she had finished Harry was shaking his head. "We have no
idea how many people are waiting for us to make that mistake." The
idea occurred to him. "No, I've got a better idea."

***

"Kathryn, really, you don't have to do this. You're a-"

She waved her mother off. "No, Mom, I may be a 'guest' in this house,
but humor me here. Make me feel useful."

Gretchen shook her head. "How come I could never get you to do this
when you were younger?"

'This' was, of course, the tradition of the family washing their own
dishes. It was something Kathryn always hated as a young child. Her
mother had forever tried to explain her theory that soap and water
always needed a little elbow grease to really work, and a computerized
drying machine just didn't have a little elbow grease. "But they've
only been around forever!" an eight-year-old Kathryn had exaggerated
one night, in an attempt to get out of her weekly chore of cleaning
the plates of food particles. "Why can't we get one, too!" But alas,
Gretchen Janeway had never wavered from her position, and once a week
Kathryn had to be forced to clean the plates and silverware.

"Because, Mom," Kathryn answered, "I used to think this was so old
fashioned." She chuckled. "I still do, but-" she paused, "I just want
to spend a little time with you. Is that so bad?"

Gretchen took her dry hand and caressed Kathryn's cheek. "Of course
not, dear."

Phoebe had long retreated to her bedroom, claiming she had spent "a
day on her feet" and was exhausted. A little sad to see her sister
depart to the bedroom, it had quickly passed and Kathryn had spent the
next hour catching up with her mother. Most was local gossip and
happenings, things Kathryn wasn't particularly interested in, but it
had been interesting to hear names she hadn't heard in years. So she
had quietly listened.

"All those different species of aliens," her mother began, "most have
offered quite an interesting palate of recipes. Perhaps you could
share once in a while?"

Kathryn looked from the plate she was washing to her mother, her eyes
slightly larger than they should have been. "That was a joke, right?"

Gretchen couldn't help but smile and shake her head, and Kathryn
wondered if this was the response was what she had been expecting. "Oh
Kathryn, you of all people could have spent eight years fending for
yourself and still have managed not to improve your cooking skills one
bit." She eyed her daughter. "You haven't changed one bit, have you?"

"Guess not," Kathryn answered with a smile.

There was something else on her mother's mind, Kathryn noticed. She
watched as Gretchen opened her mouth, and she braced herself for
whatever question was about to be thrown at her. So the nudging
against the leg startled her, as it had done early that day outside.

"Amelia," Kathryn purred affectionately, placing the half-clean plate
on the counter and crouching to pet the small puppy. "How are you,
girl?" Amelia apparently smelled the errant traces of gravy on
Kathryn's hand, so she responded by hungrily licking them away.
Kathryn couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "Very well, I see."

Gretchen was smiling at the scene. "I can't help but notice, Kathryn,
how happy you always seem to be whenever there's a puppy around," she
stated, and Kathryn nodded in agreement. And then she sensed it, that
feeling she had had just before Amelia had interrupted. The burning
question on her mother's mind was about to come spurting out. She
pretended not to notice.

"Kathryn," her mother finally said. "Can I ask you something?"

Here it comes, she thought. "Of course."

"I was wondering," - Kathryn was unknowingly holding her breath -
"where Amelia came from. You said she was...a gift?"

She nodded, and let go of part of the air she was holding inside her.
She wasn't in the clear completely, but this was certainly not what
she was expecting. "She was. From a friend."

"A friend," her mother repeated, and Kathryn noticed that her voice
was tinged with an air of disbelief. "Does this friend have a name?"

There, she realized, there was the heart of her mother's inner
conflict. It was exactly where Kathryn had suspected she was going,
and it was a place Kathryn most certainly did not want to go. "Mom-"

"Come on, Kathryn, it's not a very hard question," Gretchen
interrupted, her calm voice picking up speed and annoyance. "Is this
friend just a friend," and at this she paused to compose herself, "or
is this a special friend?"

"Mom-"

Gretchen slammed the plate she had been drying down to the counter,
and Kathryn was sure it was going to break. "For God's sake, Kathryn."
Her mother's voice was loud and uncharacteristically harsh. It was a
tone Kathryn had always expected from her father, never her mother.
"Just answer the damn question."

There was a silence between them, and Kathryn swore she heard the
wooden floorboards at the top of the stairs creaking. Their small
shouting match had, no doubt, woken Phoebe, and Kathryn guessed she
was probably listening intently at the top of the stairs. She
remembered, as children, the two of them doing a very similar motion,
listening on late nights as their parents argued about their father's
work ethic. Those late-night fights were the first of many scars on
the seemingly picture perfect Janeway household.

Kathryn took the time to compose herself, lowering her tone and
thinking carefully about her answer. "I don't think I want to," she
finally said. Adding quickly, "not yet."

It was, apparently, an incorrect response. Gretchen's face twisted
into anger. "You have some nerve, Kathryn Janeway," she delivered,
"that you would have the audacity to stand in *my* kitchen and keep
secrets from me."

Kathryn took a huge breath, halting her words so that she would not
allow anger to seep into her voice. She did not want to say something
that would hurt either one of them. "I'm not keeping secrets, Mom."
She pondered how she should word what she was thinking. "I'm
exercising discretion."

"Discretion?" Gretchen spit back. "Kathryn, you're not captaining a
starship anymore," she reminded her daughter. "You're talking to your
own flesh and blood. You would think that after eight years," her
mother paused, and it was then Kathryn noticed the red puffiness under
her eyes and the moisture that was threatening to run down her cheeks,
"you'd trust your mother enough to confide in her."

The whole argument came crashing down on Kathryn. Standing before her
was Gretchen Janeway, her tearful statement leaving her open and
vulnerable. She realized the heart of her mother's anger. It had
nothing to do with Kathryn's love life, and everything to do with her
own self-doubt. Gone from her life was her oldest daughter Kathryn,
and it taken eight years for the feeling of not being trusted to
manifest itself in her mother.

And it hit her. What if her mother had always felt this way? After
all, Kathryn had always admittedly been her father's little girl, but
she had never stopped to wonder if this extra affection for her father
had strained the relationship with her mother. And now, to return
after eight years, and not open up to her?

"This has nothing to do with trust," she said calmly, but she saw the
skepticism on her mother's face. She stepped closer to her. "It's
just," and this she wanted to word correctly, "I'm not even sure what
he is to me, Mom. I know I care a lot for him, and as does he, but
where we go from there isn't clear yet."

There was silence between them, and even the figure at the top of the
stairs didn't move. Kathryn feared she had only made things worse.
Finally, her mother's voice quietly answered. "So there is someone in
your life?"

She breathed a sigh a relief, and smiled a little. "I suppose you
could say that."

"See, that wasn't that hard, was it?" Kathryn let go a chuckle of
relief and shook her head. Her own eyes were tearing up, as well, and
she made no attempt to hide them. Neither did her mother.

Gretchen stepped closer to her daughter, grabbing her hands and
placing them in her own. Both of their hands were wrinkled from the
dishwater. "Kathryn? Will you promise me something?" Kathryn nodded.
"Will you promise me that you won't feel like you have to hold
anything back from me?"

She looked her mother directly in her eyes. "I promise."

"And if anything changes between you and this 'friend,' you'll let me
know?"

Again, she nodded. "Of course."

Gretchen pulled her daughter into an embrace, despite the fact that in
eight years Gretchen had seemed to shrink in stature. Resting her head
on her shoulder, she squeezed her mother tightly, using the physical
gesture as a way to seal the promise they had just made.

At the top of the stairs, Phoebe couldn't help but smile widely.

***

Mateth looked hard at his council members. He half-expected Tokam to
pitch into Repah's adherence to the age-old saying of Ayrethan
strength. But when he cast his gaze the old man's direction, he merely
shrunk under it like a wilting flower. The Speaker shook his head.

"Gentleman," he began, and he did not attempt to purge the chastising
tone from his voice, "nothing will be done if we sit around here and
expect someone else to make this decision. Ignorance to this problem
is *not* an option."

The members stared at their laps like children after a reprimand.
Mateth was not happy with the scene, but he needed results and their
unwillingness to cooperate was beginning to run on his patience.

Suddenly there was a voice. "This isn't ignorance," it said. Mateth
turned four seats to his left, and faced the speaker. "This is
recognition."

"Recognition?"

The man of an average age did not turn to his fellow council members
for support as he contemplated his answer. This was a quality he had
admired in Gregah: the unwillingness to let others reactions and
opinions sway his own. Of course, Mateth pondered, it often lead to
the man's ability to speak before he thought through his statement,
and he was often the spark of many heated debates.

"Recognition," Gregah repeated, "of the hopelessness of this
situation. Maybe your counsel doesn't want to debate the issue because
it isn't one."

The clamor in the room began to grow. Mateth had feared Gregah's words
were already on the minds of the other members. "I beg to differ,
Gregah. It had never been more of our problem than it is now."

"How so?" he asked defiantly. "When they needed our help, you and the
Elders decided against it. Now, when they give us no signal, we simply
offer ourselves to them?"

Turning to his left, Gregah placed a solemn hand on young Kalet's
shoulder. "It is true the Ayrethans are superior to that of the
Sernaix," he paused, "or any culture in the quadrants outside us. But
must we prove that? Are we not above those who would beat proudly on
their chests and stake their claim with a shout and a clang of
weapons?" He turned to the Speaker. "Mateth, your place of the Elders'
Council has been on the platform that we as a race have fought hard
for the civilization we now possess. Must we now pull ourselves into
an uncivilized conflict with the Sernaix?"

Mateth felt the clamor growing in his ears, and for the first time,
felt the seed of opposition in the very fiber of his being. He knew
the backlash of reading his council's thoughts and feelings in a time
like this, but the temptation was such that he almost gave in. His
mind cast a doubt on Gregah; the man was beginning to develop a mind
of his own, an opinion that transcended that of the council. Mateth
knew he could be a problem later on.

Gregah was still speaking. "We were charged with the protection and
safekeeping of the Sernaix, and for all our wills we've tried. But
even the idea of a Realm," and even at the mere connection to the
Inryeth caused a stir from the direction of Tokam, "failed us and them
in the end. They've grown beyond our control, Mateth, they're too wild
for even the harshest of forces from an Ayrethan assault."

The Speaker cast a gaze to his council member on the right. "I never
meant to stun them, Gregah."

Gregah contemplated the speaker's words. "Nevertheless, Mateth, enough
will never be enough. They will," his mind paused on the words his
mouth spoke, "not stop until they are all gone."

The clamor climaxed, and Mateth could do nothing but cast a wayward
glance at his old friend. Gregah was telling them exactly what they
wanted to hear, and the Speaker wondered how much truth was in
Gregah's words.

***

"Who died and appointed me everyone else's confidant?"

B'Elanna stared at the confused expression on the faces of Harry and
Seven, and laughed. For the second she considered telling them about
Chakotay's early morning call, but in the next she decided against it.
Better to let them stew in their confusion for her small personal
pleasure.

She focused on Harry. "Or did you miss me so much, Harry, that you
couldn't let me spend one full week with my family?"

This he understood; he shook his head. "I know I promised you some
time off, B'Elanna, but..."

Harry hesitated. Despite her civilian stature, he couldn't be
positively sure the comm channel was secure. He didn't know who was
listening, on either of their ends.

"Harry?" B'Elanna asked. "Is everything okay?"

Better late than never, Harry thought. He then proceeded to tell her
everything, about the suspicious behavior Commander Grant had
displayed since his arrival, about the copious amounts of classified
information in Grant's personnel file, and about Seven's attempt to
decrypt the information.

Harry was about to launch into his reasoning behind his suspicions
when B'Elanna waved him off. "Harry, why are you telling me this?"

The question caught him off guard. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Why?"

"Because," he paused. He didn't have a proper answer for it, and he
felt vaguely ashamed of that. "I don't know why. I'll be honest,
B'Elanna, I'm not even sure I know what it all means or what kind of
consequences might come from knowing what we know." He sensed she
wanted to speak, and he hurried up the thought in his mind. "All I
know is we had to tell someone."

"I'll say it again," she replied with a smile, "Why me? Why not
Janeway?"

"She's too much of a security risk," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"And an ex-Maquis working as a civilian consultant on a new top-secret
starship isn't?" B'Elanna chuckled. "Harry, you're losing your touch."

The conversation lulled. "We might as well tell her," Harry finally
said.

"Chakotay mentioned she was visiting family in Indiana. You might want
try there first."

The remark piqued Harry's interest. "He told you this?" When she
nodded slowly, he couldn't contain the smile on his lips. "I see."

The two understood exactly what wasn't said.

***

All the council members were talking at once, and Mateth was not
making an effort to quiet them down. He could have burst from his seat
and anger could have seized him, but he chose to let the sleeping
monster lie dormant inside of him. He had ultimate power in this room,
ultimate power over Nethma and Ipthar, but Mateth realized that the
result of this approaching problem could spell the next move for
Gregah. The council member made no secret of his ambition, whether
they be word of mouth or in his thoughts.

The member to Mateth's right sat, in contrast to his friend's quiet
but loud brooding, in contemplating silence. Isylpah knew of the
Speaker's worries, for Isylpah had seen more than the Speaker or any
of the council members could claim to. Yet he did not desire the power
his old age and wisdom could have afforded him, because he dared not
bear the responsibility.

When the clamor died, Isylpah spoke. "What the Sernaix have become,
what they are and were, what they stand for and what they have done,
are," his mouth curled around the familiar phrase, "irrelevant. We
have a responsibility; one afforded to us thousands of years ago by a
wise man, to the Sernaix, and to the people of the galaxy. We cannot
let this go lightly."

The council was silent, and Mateth was pleased.

"If we deny the responsibility he gave to us, then we are no better
than the Sernaix themselves. Life is a difficult choice, and what we
have here today is a difficult choice." He paused. "You don't like it,
and it may lead to the ultimate destruction of the Sernaix. This much
you've proven to me. But where is your courage? Thousands of years
from now, how do you want to be remembered? As Ayrethans who shrank
under the control of balancing the universe, once and for all?" His
gaze was met by each of the council members around the table. "Or will
you be the valiant Council of Ayrethia, who made a decision against
great opposition and rid the world once and for all of the threat that
are the Sernaix?"

Mateth opened is mouth to speak, but his old friend was not done.
"That, gentleman, is the real issue here."

***

Kathryn rolled over and pulled the covers closer to her, but the small
female voice was not a figment of her imagination. She groaned into
the pillow as she realized that it really was the computer terminal
sitting peacefully on the desk that was beckoning her from sleep.
Glancing at the chronometer beside her bed, she realized it actually
wasn't that late -- only 11:30 -- but apparently whoever was on the
transmitting end of the message was unaware of the time in Indiana.

The computer's constant reminder of an "Incoming Subspace Message"
forced Kathryn to push the covers away and make her way to the desk.
Halfway there, she stopped. She knew very well he could be on the
other end of the terminal, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to talk
to him or not. The argument with her mother had disturbed her, and the
last thing she'd wanted that night was to have to face the source of
conflict between them. She considered ignoring the message. But what
if it wasn't him? She shook her head, and closed the distance between
her and the desk.

Taking a breath, she pressed the 'receive' button.

"Harry," she exclaimed when she saw the young Lieutenant's face on her
screen. After a second she realized she might have seemed a little too
eager to see him, and that it might raise suspicions in him.

A thought occurred to her. "How did you know I was here?"

Harry smiled. She wondered if he had been anticipating the question.
"B'Elanna told me." When she was about to ask how B'Elanna had
acquired the knowledge, he added, "Chakotay told her."

"What can I do for you, Harry?"

Again, Harry explained the situation with Commander Grant. "I'm not
even sure it *is* situation, Captain," he added.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Just myself, Seven, you, and B'Elanna." He decided to leave out the
sarcastic comment about whoever else was listening in.

The last name broke her from her sleep-induced fogginess. "B'Elanna?"
Harry nodded. "I thought her time on Fulton Station was up. I wasn't
aware she was returning after the San Francisco landing."

"She didn't, Captain."

"Oh." Kathryn tried to hide her disappoint that she had not been the
first person notified. She knew it wasn't working very well. She hated
to think Harry thought it was a popularity contest, or that he still
held a responsibility to the former chain of command.

The yawn that came from her mouth was unexpected. "Look, Harry, I
realize how important this might be," she paused, as she thought she
might yawn again, "but it's late. I'm tired."

"Captain, I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"It's okay, Harry," she replied with a smile, "you don't have to
apologize. Tomorrow, when I'm more awake, we'll see if there's
anything we can do about this."

Harry nodded, and when she saw he was going to terminate the link, and
thought occurred to her. "Seven?"

The woman she knew was hiding from view came onto the screen. "Yes,
Captain?"

"You're positive you erased all trace of your information excursion?"

Seven nodded. "Absolutely, Captain. No one should know we were there."

"Good."

***

In a private room in a house tucked away in the corner of the woods, a
hand terminated the audio recording, and the five men shared a small
laugh.

It was Mr. West who spoke first. "They should all be this feisty." He
looked at his associates. "Well, gentlemen, we've got a problem that
need a solution."

Brock replied, "Pull Grant from the Montana Project. He was a wild
card from the start."

West remembered the brief discussion about additions to the project.
He thought about the suggestion before replying. "Not yet." Brock
opened his mouth to protest, but West cut him off. "The last thing we
need is more raised suspicions from our favorite engineers. Besides,"
he added, "the information he's providing us on the Sernaix technology
could prove useful in," he paused, his mouth curling in a smile around
the phrase, "further negotiations."

"Speaking of which," Kelley broke in, "I think we owe Mr. Thompson a
big thank you for his handling of our," his mind searched for the
proper word, "situation with the Analysis and Research Team."

Thompson leaned forward in his chair, and even in the dim light of the
room, his tan skin -- the product of weeks in the intense sunlight of
the desolate planet -- stood out from that of others. Until then he
had hardly added to the discussion of other topics; he did not speak
unless he was spoken to.

Kelley was continuing his praise. "Since he was able to intercept Mr.
Dalby's body on the way to Medical, evidence of his discovery and the
trace particles on his corpse are subject to our disposal." He added,
"Subject to your approval, of course, I'd like to send down additional
personnel to...make sure word of this doesn't leave that planet."

"Of course," West obliged. "I'd hate to lose such a promising
bargaining chip."

Segall also chipped in. "But what about our friends on Fulton Station,
and here on Earth. Something has to be done about this security leak."

But West was shaking his head. "If you missed the discussion on
bargaining chips, Mr. Segall, then you'd realize why something we
could do would not be productive."

"But, sir-"

"That's enough!" exclaimed West. The momentary loss of focus from the
group's leader was just that, momentary, and he quickly slipped back
into a professional demeanor. "Our contact puts heavy stock in her
myth. While we're involved, we do nothing to upset that belief."

Segall glared at West. "Please tell me you don't believe that 'Touched
by God' garbage."

But Mr. West only smiled at his associate.

***

Mateth stood alone at his window, the far away images of the Sernaix
assembling not leaving his sights or his mind. He heard the door
quietly open, but made no sound or movement to indicate that he had.
He could only think of one person who could be visiting him at such an
hour.

"They look very harmless," he remarked to the figure behind him.

"Seeing is not believing," replied Isylpah. "It was my father's
favorite lesson."

"As was mine."

The two friends continued the stare at the buzzing Sernaix ships, but
the conversation was far from over.

"We can't hide this from Nethma and Ipthar forever, you know."

The Speaker turned around. "My fellow Elders do not realize the
severity of our situation. When it is concluded they will understand
why I chose not to inform them."

Mateth turned back to the window.

"Perhaps," Isylpah agreed. His mind stuck on a thought. "But the
'severity of our situation' does not seem to warrant this kind of
secrecy. Unless," his interest piqued, "you have not laid down all of
your cards."

Mateth turned to face his friend again, and Isylpah noticed the green
shade his skin had mutated towards. It represented an emotion Isylpah
had never seen in the Speaker, and it frightened him a little.

"The Sernaix may have had help-"

"-but we have suspected this-"

"-from someone who's intentions are far from admirable."

Isylpah tried to think of the Sernaix's intentions as admirable, but
could not. "Has this been confirmed?"

Mateth instead turned back to the window, but Isylpah got his answer.
"What could the Sernaix want that an ally would possibly be able to
provide them with?" He thought. "Power?"

The consequence of his answer rattled in his brain. He had withheld
this thread of information for a reason, not wanting to clutter the
council with the nature of an alien race's behavior.

Isylpah sensed his friend's hesitation. "Something else, Mateth?"

The Speaker turned to his friend.

"Their messiah."

THE END.