Chapter 15

Janeway's face smiled at Tom from the view screen.  "I hear you'll be 
discharged tomorrow."

"Like a capacitor," Tom said.

From a seat near Tom, Seven answered Janeway's confusion.  "It is a 
twentieth century reference, Admiral.  It is a joke.  Barely."

Janeway ignored the byplay.  "Where will you go, Tom?  The Rand's?  
You could stay with me."

"Actually, I was going to stay with Seven of Nine."  This was not 
entirely true; they weren't staying.  He and Seven planned to remain 
on Earth only as long as it took to download Voyager's EMH.  He 
hoped Janeway would be their ticket into Medical Engineering.

"When did you get back, Seven?" Janeway asked.

The Borg moved to sit beside Tom, who inched over to make room 
for her in front of the console.  "I returned yesterday."

"So how was your vacation?  You were a little overdue for one."  
Janeway asked, "Do you feel more relaxed?"  

"It was interesting, but I am unsure whether I am always relaxed, or 
never."

Janeway laughed, then said, "So what can I do for you two?"

"Well," Tom began, "we were hoping you could get us in to see the 
Doctor again.  Seven would like a maintenance check up, and I'd like 
to thank him and say good bye."

"I don't see why not."

"But Medical Engineering doesn't see any reason why we should," 
Tom countered.  "Kathryn, they deactivated him before I even got 
out of surgery."

"Yes, you told me."  Janeway frowned slightly.  "I'll see what I can 
do."

"Thank you, Admiral," said Seven.

"I'll call you back when I learn something."

Tom smiled at her image on the screen.  "Thanks, Kathryn."

The viewer returned to its resting screen of the Federation symbol.  
Tom turned to Seven, who was still sitting on the bench next to him.  
"Think it'll work?"

"If we can get to see the Doctor, my plan will 'work'.  We must 
succeed in distracting this Ensign Straepin.  She will undoubtedly 
notice the increase in his program's activity as he copies himself into 
my implant."

"Any suggestions?"

A rare and wicked grin spread over Seven's face.  "I could kiss him, 
and have him interface with an implant in my mouth.  That might 
distract the ensign and kill, as you would say, two birds with one 
stone."

Tom chuckled at the mental image, but shook his head.  "No, I think 
Straepin would avert her eyes, and they'd avert right over to her 
console."

"You are correct, but you have given me an elegant solution," Seven 
said seriously.  Tom raised his eyebrows in question, and she 
explained, "Privacy is customary in medical examinations."

Tom's screen beeped before he could do more than laugh.  He didn't 
think it would be that easy.

Janeway's face appeared.  "It took a little work, but you're to meet 
Straepin in the atrium at fourteen hundred today."

"Thanks, Kathryn."  Tom kept his smile intact.  "I hope you didn't 
twist anyone's arm too hard."

"No, I think the ensign wanted to meet the Borg."  There was humor 
in the Admiral's voice.

Seven lifted her brow implant.  "I will endeavor to be worth 
meeting."

"I'm sure you will be.  Tom, don't leave without saying good bye."

He looked momentarily offended, although he had intended to do just 
that.  "Yes, ma'am," he drawled, lying easily.

"Let me know if you need anything more, Mr. Paris."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Tom turned away from the darkened screen.  "Phase two.  Let's get 
lunch," he said to Seven, who nodded in reply.  "

*--*

They waited in the atrium, full of Mama Pak's sushi.  Seven of Nine 
had little sense of taste for pleasure, though as she put it her lingual 
chemorecepters were quite acute.  She had decided that sushi was an 
efficient form of nutrition for the consumer, if not for the preparer, 
until Tom introduced her to wasabi.  Wasabi, said Seven, was fun.  

In between bouts of fun Seven told Tom about her time with Ba'ruq's 
people.  She had helped him install the Dominion shield, altering it 
enough that its energy signature would not register as Dominion, and 
had set a warning system so that it would only engage when needed.  
Ba'ruq in turn had helped her to build and integrate storage units for 
the Doctor's holomatrix which would not be detected.  Her back was 
now covered by a flexible set of data cores.  Tom was both impressed 
and relieved.

Now he hoped the next few hours would go as smoothly as a 
Borg/Ba'ruq engineering project.  

They did not have long to wait before Straepin emerged from the sea 
of uniforms and joined them quietly.  "Mr. Paris."

Tom smiled down at her, surprised to notice that she was fairly 
short.  He had only seen her before from the vantages of ground 
chair and biobed.  "Ensign Straepin," he said.  "Seven of Nine, may I 
present our Doctor's latest caretaker."

Seven did not answer the engineer's reaching hand.  She was fully in 
the mode Tom thought of as Borg cool.  "Ensign," she acknowledged.

"Pleased to meet you," Straepin managed to say, her dark face 
flushing slightly.

Seven merely inclined her head slightly and said in flat tones, "You 
will conduct us to Voyager's emergency medical hologram."

"Yes, of course.  This way, please."

They followed the ensign to the examining room housing the Doctor's 
isolated system.  At one point Straepin turned to make conversation, 
but seemed to think the better of it.  Tom was amused to see that the 
engineer appeared unable to face Seven's cool, appraising look.

When they reached the room, Straepin made for the computer 
console and keyed in a few commands.  The EMH appeared.

"Please state the nature of the medical -- Oh, it's you," he said to 
Straepin.  "How long has it been this time?"

"Just over a week," said Tom.

The Doctor turned at the sound.  "Mr. Paris.  Seven!"  The second was 
said with deep pleasure.  "I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again."

"Nor was I," the Borg answered.  "Admiral Janeway intervened on my 
behalf."

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this brief reminder of my 
existence?"

"She needs a tune up," said Tom, but he was ignored.

"I am in need of maintenance.  It has been over six months since my 
last visit."

"Ah.  Any complaints?"  The EMH had switched from personal into 
professional mode.

"I do not complain," Seven answered with a hint of testiness, "but 
several systems are not functioning at peak efficiency."

"All right," the Doctor said, turning to pick from a group of 
instruments.  "Please disrobe."

"No."

"Seven, you know I need to make a complete examination and have 
physical access to all your implants."

"Understood, but I will not comply while we still have... spectators."  
Seven did not look away from the Doctor as she spoke, but her tones 
were dismissive.

The hologram sighed and looked pointedly from Straepin to Tom.  "If 
you'll excuse us?"

The engineer hesitated, a look of uncertainty on her dark face.  At 
Tom's prompting -- "We'll be just outside." -- she seemed to change 
her mind and after tapping a few commands into her terminal, 
stepped toward the door.

The Borg's abrupt voice stopped her before she had gone far.  "You 
do not have my permission to record my medical examination."

Sheepishly Straepin stepped back, and appeared to enter the counter 
commands.  "Sorry," she murmured, and exited.  

Tom followed her out, and they stood just outside the door.  He 
couldn't believe it was this easy.  He imagined what was happening 
inside the room, how the Doctor would be downloading himself into 
the implants that now covered Seven's back in a thin layer of Borg 
circuitry.  

A basic EMH would be left behind with a few subroutines added so 
that it would overtly sound like Voyager's program, with an intact 
ethical matrix.  This would ensure that Seven of Nine's medical 
records would still be unavailable.  If Starfleet ever did get around to 
looking into the question of the EMH's sentience, they would 
probably decide that the Voyager crew had been deluded.  

Tom wondered again whether he should tell Janeway what they 
were doing.  She might support it, but the chances were also high 
that she would turn them in for theft.  He sighed at the thought, the 
noise attracting Straepin's attention.

"Mr. Paris?"

"Tom, please."

His response seemed to restore the confidence she had shown in his 
previous encounter with her.  "The program isn't really sentient, is 
it?"

"What do you think?" he asked, mentally thanking her for the 
opening.

"It mimics it pretty well, but I wonder whether all those details like 
the love of opera weren't put there by one of Voyager's crew to 
make him seem more human."  She looked speculatively at Tom.  "I 
heard you were Voyager's best holoprogrammer."

This was going to be too easy.  "I'm not that good, not like Harry 
Kim," Tom dissembled.  "Besides, if it had been me, I don't think 
opera would have topped my list of musical interests."

Straepin smiled.  "Perhaps it would have been too obvious if you'd 
chosen internal combustion vehicles, or twentieth century 
speculative fiction.  You could have been covering your tracks."

Startled by her knowledge of his Voyager pastimes, Tom fought to 
keep focused enough to plant the seed he wanted to leave behind.  
He answered her, "Maybe somebody did it on purpose, but they'd 
have to have been awfully patient.  I worked pretty closely with 
him, and he changed slowly."  Tom let out a sigh he hoped wasn't 
overly dramatic.  "I don't know.  Maybe we were kidding ourselves.  
Maybe we needed to feel like our doctor was a real person."

Tom thought he'd said enough, and then, as if just thinking about it, 
he asked, "So how do you know so much about my holoprograms on 
Voyager?"

He listened with half an ear as the ensign told him about her 
Academy roommate, a counseling student who had done her honors 
project on Voyager's leisure activities.  Tom thought it was a stupid 
thesis for wartime, and was uncomfortable with the idea of being 
studied.  He was barely paying attention, though; his real concern 
was with Seven of Nine and the hologram.  He fervently hoped that 
Seven could make it so that Straepin suspected nothing.

He let the ensign talk, and asked questions enough to keep her 
talking until she stopped abruptly.  "I'm sorry.  You must be bored 
with me."

Tom brought his attention back to her and gave her the Paris grin.  
"Not at all."

"I never even asked about your legs."

"They're fine.  Good as new," Tom answered, still smiling but actually 
becoming concerned.  What was taking Seven so long?

They stood quietly a few minutes longer before the door slid open 
and the Borg stepped through.  "My examination is complete."

Tom stepped past her, pausing to catch her eye.  Her head inclined a 
few millimeters.  Transfer complete.  He walked over to where the 
EMH stood, arranging his instruments.

"So I guess this is good-bye, Doc."

"Not so fast, Mr. Paris."  The hologram turned, a medical tricorder in 
hand.  "I want to check your regenerated nerves."

Tom smiled indulgently, thinking that the real Doctor would have 
done the same.  "Sure."  He hopped up on the biobed and stuck his 
legs straight out.

The Doctor moved the probe over Tom's outstretched limbs, 
concentrating on the tricorder's display.  He finally shut it with a 
snap, and pronounced, "Good as new."

"Just like I've been saying."

"Well, good bye, Mr. Paris.  Try not to get your spine severed again."  
The tone was marginally different from the EMH's usual brand of 
sarcasm.  Tom wondered whether the slight change would be 
apparent to Straepin, but he doubted it.  She didn't have his years of 
experience with the Doctor.

Straepin was at her console, a slight frown on her face.  Tom began to 
get worried, and glanced at Seven.  Seven's eyes were on the 
engineer, and she said, "I said that you did not have permission to 
record my examination."

A stricken look settled on the ensign's dark face.  "She blocked my 
archive routine.  I'm supposed to record everything he does."

"He examined me," Seven said flatly.  "I needed routine maintenance.  
He performed the appropriate adjustments.  That should be sufficient 
information for your archive."

"I can't just say that," Straepin said.  "I'm supposed to analyze his 
speech patterns, and his diagnostic algorithms.  I shouldn't have left 
the room," she said, chastising herself.

Tom walked to her, gave Straepin his best Janeway-style shoulder 
squeeze.  "You couldn't know she would block your program, ensign.  
If your superiors reprimand you, appeal to Admiral Janeway.  You 
were asked to cooperate with us, weren't you?"

"Yes," Straepin sighed.

"And so you did," Tom said, as if that ended the matter.  "Computer, 
deactivate emergency medical hologram."

The long-familiar disembodied voice said, "Authorization required."

"Paris epsilon four --"  Tom caught himself and chuckled ruefully.  
Perhaps there was a little 'Fleet left in him.  "Ensign we'll leave him 
to you.  Good bye, Doctor."

"Good bye."  The hologram turned to Straepin.  "Back in the box with 
me."

She keyed in the commands, frowning as the hologram disappeared.  
"He's usually not so eager to be turned off."

Seven glared at the engineer.  "You have never seen him after he 
examines me.  It is demanding work."

Tom kept a straight face, but it was difficult.  Seven of Nine was 
doing her best to intimidate Straepin, and she was succeeding.  He 
could imagine what the ensign was thinking, that even a program 
would need a break after dealing with a Borg.

"Shall we?"  He gestured Seven toward the door.  Tom followed her 
out, thanking Straepin one last time.  It was only when they reached 
the atrium that he realized how nervous he was.  They walked 
nonchalantly, but Paris was on high alert.

Janeway was waiting for them.  Tom couldn't interpret the dark look 
on her face.  Seven caught his eye and took a deep breath.  

"I asked that she meet us here.  I could not leave without saying 
good bye to her."

"That's awfully sentimental of you.  Didn't we agree that the best 
thing to do was to leave immediately?"

"And we will.  After saying good-bye.  We both owe her at least 
that."

They reached Janeway within a few more steps.

"Tom, you were going to sneak out on me again, weren't you?"

He brazened it out, despite his annoyance at Seven.  "Well, I was 
never very good with long partings, Kathryn."

"It was good to see you.  You don't have to stay away anymore."

He winced internally.  "All right."

"How are you planning to get around?  I don't think Starfleet has 
offered you any more transport."

Seven of Nine spoke.  "We will use the White Raven."

"Your flier."  Janeway assessed the Borg evenly.  "So you're leaving, 
too?"

"That is why I asked you to meet us."  Cool blue eyes looked at 
Janeway, and uncharacteristically glanced away.  "I have been alone 
since Voyager returned to the Alpha quadrant and my collective was 
dispersed.  I am in search of a new... family."

"Starfleet is not enough?"

"Admiral, I am an oddity here, and not one of you."  Seven's voice 
sounded final, and Janeway didn't argue.

"You're joining the Runners?"

"Yes."

"Good luck to you both then."  

Janeway started to withdraw into formality, but Tom would have 
none of that.  He bent, taking her into his arms for a parting embrace.  
Only when he held her he was reminded how small she really was, a 
larger presence in a tiny frame.  Like Dahl had been.  The thought 
intruded grimly, and Tom wondered what the Betazoid was doing on 
Chakotay's ship, and what Chakotay had done once he knew who 
Dahl was.  He let Janeway go, a wan smile masking his concern.  

Janeway squeezed his shoulders as he let her go, and turned to Seven 
of Nine.  Formality rose again, as if she was uncertain what gesture 
would be welcome.  The Borg bent to embrace her, and Tom could 
see a look of loss on Seven's face as she murmured, "Good bye, 
Captain.  Thank you."

Janeway straightened her face into the mask of command that Tom 
knew so well from her, from his father, from his own face.  It was 
the mask that hid true feelings and gave the illusion of control to 
those who needed to see it.  She looked at them evenly, then let her 
lips quirk toward a smile.  "Don't do anything too stupid," she said, 
and turned to leave.  

Tom chuckled, amused that she couldn't resist giving them orders.

"I would like to depart immediately," Seven announced.

"Me, too."  

They walked out into Earth's sunshine and began to make their way 
to the private shuttle port in Arizona.  They moved with apparent 
casualness, taking a public transports from the coast to the desert.  
They were nervous, but waited for the final tram with apparent 
nonchalance.  Tom was suddenly thankful for all the time he'd spent 
being different characters in the holodeck.  Mentally he posed 
himself as a jaded playboy, traveler of the galaxy, but he couldn't 
quite hold it.

He wondered whether he should have contacted his father's widow, 
or tried to see the half-brothers who didn't know he existed.  At 
Owen Paris' funeral Tom had stayed away from them.  He had been 
indecisive about continuing to stay away ever since he let himself 
think about it during a regeneration session.  The boys had just lost 
their father, he rationalized, and didn't need any more upsets.  It was 
best he had left them alone.

They reached the shuttle port and the White Raven without incident.  
From the outside it looked much like the Delta Flyer, but the inside 
used more Borg technology than Voyager's shuttle.  Their few bags 
were already stowed.  As soon as they were aboard, Seven called for 
clearance to take off and began to warm the engines.  They were 
given a departure window thirty minutes away.

For thirty minutes he expected them to be boarded by Starfleet 
Security, but they lifted off without raising any suspicions.  Too easy, 
he congratulated himself.