Chapter 16

After nearly two days with little to do but tend to the autopilot, Tom 
itched to chat.  He liked Seven of Nine, with her dead-pan humor and 
the unsentimental gentleness he knew to lie under her steely 
exterior.  One thing he could never get used to, though, was her Borg-
like distaste for 'irrelevant conversation.' 

White Raven was cruising on autopilot, and Tom found her at a 
computer console, rapidly reviewing text data.

"What's up?"

"I am researching the Runners.  I wish to be well versed in the ways 
of my new collective."

Tom realized she was nervous.  He felt he was returning home, but 
this would be new for her, and he had forgotten that.  Even he could 
be misled by Borg cool.

A glance over her shoulder showed him that she was reviewing 
popular news stories, and he laughed.  "That's pretty sensational 
stuff.  It's not always like that."

She touched a control and blanked the screen, then turned 
deliberately to face him.  "What is it like, Tom?"

Momentarily startled, he breathed a quiet laugh before answering.  
"It's dangerous, frightening, boring, exhilarating.  You do what needs 
done, with no Starfleet protocols to slow you down.  You have to find 
your own way out here."

"No rules?  No guidelines?"  She seemed more openly apprehensive.

"Not 'no rules.'  A ship is a ship, and a Captain still has complete 
command.  That's the only way you survive out here.  But you have 
your own missions and there are no restrictions but the laws of 
physics as to how you get them done."

She turned back to the console, but did not call up any displays.  "I 
wish we had had this discussion earlier.  It sounds chaotic," she said, 
irritated.

"It is."  Tom spoke to her back, which stiffened at his words.  He 
turned her chair around, determined to reassure her.  "Look, Seven, 
the Borg understand non-linear dynamics better than any other 
species, right?"

"That is true, though the Borg strive to eliminate random elements in 
the search for perfection."

"But they can't can they?  And they even harness the chaos in their 
quantum technology, don't they?"

"They do."

"Non-linear dynamics produce apparent linear movement."

She relaxed slightly, interested in Tom's train of logic.

"Look, say a Starfleet crew has to get from point A to point B."  He 
indicated two places in the space between them.  "But they're 
constrained by regulations.  To an outside observer it looks like 
they're taking a curved route, but to the 'Fleet crew, they feel like 
they're on a straight path."  Tom drew his descriptions in the air, 
sketching an arc with his palm from one point to the other.

"Runners can just do this," he continued, drawing the straight 
connection.  "But to Starfleet, it looks like we're the ones off the line.  
It's much more efficient," he finished with an encouraging grin.

Seven's focus shifted from Tom's invisible illustrations to his face.  "I 
believe I can adapt."

Tom's smile broadened.  "Good.  I'm glad to have you with us."

A beeping alert called them to the pilot's station.  They were only a 
few minutes away from their rendezvous with the Logan.

Tom's pulse quickened in nervous excitement.  Since he had Seven 
talking, he indulged in the banter that usually served to distract him.  
"So, can I ask you a question?"

"You are going to do so anyway.  Why request permission?"

He chuckled.  "Okay, here goes.  Back on DS9, that Ferengi ensign, and 
Harry, did you sleep with them?"

"There was no unconsciousness involved," she answered flatly.

"You know what I'm asking," he cajoled.

"You wish to know whether I copulated with them."

"And?" 

"I did not."

"Huh."  Tom sat back heavily, bemused.  "I was sure you and Harry..."

"We intended you to make that assumption."  Her mouth quirked in 
amusement.

"Damn."  Shaking his head, Tom ventured, "Have you ever?"

She was silent for a long minute, and Tom began to wonder whether 
he had over-stepped her bounds.  At last she said quietly, "No."

"Why not?" he asked gently, afraid he knew the answer.

"I am Borg."

Tom Paris was Voyager's former medical assistant, and he knew 
what she meant.  She was capable of copulation, but elimination 
processes were one of those messy things that Borg assimilation did 
away with.  The Doctor had restored much, but to someone not 
expecting it, the sight of Seven of Nine nude could be a shock.

"You can't expect everyone to be put off by your implants.  I mean, 
people do marry across species."  Tom did his best to return his tone 
to normal banter.  Of course even banter with Seven could turn 
uncomfortably serious.

To his relief, her tone matched his.  "You are correct, Though the 
general trend would be toward -- " She broke off, then chose her 
word, "...distaste.  However, perhaps one day a non-linearity may be 
worth exploiting."

Tom looked over at her profile, and saw that her expression was 
neutral.  He put her possible future sex life out of his mind instantly, 
because the Logan was on screen, and Ba'ruq was hailing them on 
audio.

"White Raven here, requesting permission to dock," Seven answered.

"Permission granted," came the Klingon voice.  "Any trouble?"

Seven glanced at Tom before answering.  "Only what I brought with 
me."

"Paris!"  Relief and pleasure were evident in the loud growl.

"Guilty as charged, Ba'ruq."  Tom found he was grinning.  "Any 
trouble?"

The answer was grumpy.  "My trouble is that I'm sitting in the 
command chair, and not you."

"Well, we'll see what we can do about that, my friend."

"We'll see you as soon as you dock.  Did you get it?"

Seven answered, "We were successful in removing the complete files 
of Voyager's emergency medical hologram."

"Good!"  Tom could hear a note of triumph in Ba'ruq's voice.  "I've 
completed outfitting the sick bay with the computer and 
holoemitters he'll need.  I took the liberty of constructing a backup 
we can store at my colony."

"You've been busy," Tom said, admiring the engineer's forethought.

"Hmph.  Better busy than bored.  Logan out."

They docked with no problem, and Ba'ruq's greeting was a 
perfunctory nod of his round, bearded face before he strode off 
toward the Logan's small medical bay.  Tom followed, meeting the 
eyes of the few crew they passed, and smiling greetings to their 
surprised faces.  The Logan's original crew had never seen him 
uninjured. 

It was good to be back, but Ba'ruq's pace left him no chance to stop 
and talk.  Tom absorbed himself in the different dress styles the 
crew used, and the less-than-polished look of a typical Runner ship.  
Starfleet facilities seemed a little too sterile to him now, and it was 
good to be on a ship that felt lived-in.  He was not permitted much 
time for reflection, and he had to hurry to keep up with the Klingon.  
The engineer was eager to test the new system.  

Seven was as direct as Ba'ruq, and when they reached the medical 
area she pulled off her jacket and turned her back to the Klingon, 
demanding he unzip her shirt.

He did so as if he were removing the cover to a piece of equipment, 
revealing a set of implants Tom had heard described but never seen.  
They were thin and flexible, and spanned most of her back, covering 
the spaces between her permanent Borg hardware.  Seven and 
Ba'ruq began to speak in short, direct phrases, and to Tom's 
amusement they seemed to understand each other perfectly.  He 
wished the Doctor were already on line so that he could appreciate 
the counterpoint voiced in contralto and growl.  Finally:

"Interface?"

"Assimilation tubules."

"Ah."

"Now?"

"Yes."

Five thin, dark tubes snaked out of Seven's back implants and into 
the waiting computer.  Tom was momentarily nauseated at the 
memory of similar machines entering the flesh below his knees, but 
it quickly passed.  Seven stood for all the world as if she were 
waiting for a shuttle.  Behind her the Klingon made noises deep in his 
throat, sounds that Tom had learned to associate with successful 
results.

It was a long minute before Seven disengaged, the tube interfaces 
leaving the computer with typical Borg compressive bursts and 
bright flashes.  She turned to face the console, useless connections 
hanging behind her, and watched as Ba'ruq made the final 
adjustments.  With a last guttural "Ha!" and definitive press of a 
keypad, the engineer turned to watch the hologram take form.

"Please state the nature of the medical..." The Doctor trailed off, then 
finished softly as he looked around, "Emergency."

"Welcome to the Logan, Doc."  Tom greeted him with arms outspread 
in an expansive gesture.

"I'm pleased to see your little heist was successful," the hologram 
said, looking happily around his new domain.  "I suppose it's too 
much to ask whether you got my mobile emitter as well."

"Sorry, but that one's well secreted away in the temporal 
anachronism vaults at Starfleet headquarters."

"But we're working on it," Ba'ruq interjected.

The hologram turned at the voice, and Seven introduced them.  
"Doctor, this is Ba'ruq, who helped construct your data transport 
implants.  He is chief engineer aboard this vessel.  Ba'ruq, meet 
Voyager's emergency medical hologram."

"Charmed, I'm sure.  You say you're working on another mobile 
emitter?" the hologram asked eagerly.

"It may not be as elegant," Seven answered, "nor as efficient as the 
one from the twenty-ninth century, but we hope to create something 
sufficient."

"'Sufficient,'" the Doctor repeated.  "From you that sounds rather 
promising.  Thank you," he continued seriously, turning to include all 
three of them.  "I've only spent a few weeks of subjective time 
activated in the years since Voyager returned to the Alpha Quadrant. 
I was afraid if I ever did eventually convince them I was sentient, 
you'd all be retired.  Or worse."

"You're a free man, Doctor," Tom said.  "Or at least as free as we can 
make you.  If you ever want to leave, we'll do what we can to 
transfer your matrix wherever you want to go.  Starfleet would 
never give you that."

"So, where am I?"

Seven spoke.  "Before you begin an inefficient verbal data transfer, I 
should tell you that updates on current political and military 
situations are included in your new matrix."

"Oh."  A moment's reflection passed over the hologram's face as his 
program searched the files.  "So you're famous now, Mr. Paris.  And I 
assume this is a Runner ship."

"Your new home, until you decide to be somewhere else," he 
answered.  "I requested opera for you, but it may be Klingon.  Not 
the world's best research facilities, but we'll at least keep you busy.  
If we'd had you around when I....  Well, that's a long story."

Seven broke it.  "The story can wait for another time.  I would 
appreciate some medical assistance."

"Oh?" the hologram asked.

"Your data storage devices," she explained.  "They are no longer 
necessary, and I would like them removed."

The hologram and the Klingon engineer moved into action as Tom 
leaned back and folded his arms to watch.  He could probably have 
helped, but they seemed to have it covered.  Instead he let himself 
stand quietly, enjoying the feeling of being back where he belonged.  
To have Seven of Nine and the Doctor with him only deepened his 
sense that this was home.  Perhaps one day he would be with 
Chakotay again, but this was where he belonged now.

Seven lay face down on the biobed, the engineer and physician 
working together to restore her to her previous configuration, as she 
put it.  The procedure didn't take long, and shortly Seven was sitting 
up, while the Doctor zipped up the back of her shirt.  

Ba'ruq stepped over toward Tom.  He was no longer busy, and had no 
reason to further avoid their greeting.  Still, the voice was gruff as he 
said, "It is good to see you, Paris."  

Tom knew what was left unsaid.  He shared the feeling.  Their last 
parting might have been final, and he was relieved to be with his old 
friend again.  He didn't know what to say that would not embarrass 
them both.  "Good to see you, too.  Shall we go to the bridge?"

"I'd like to show Seven around, and get her opinion on some 
problems we've been having with the drive."

"All right."

The Borg had rejoined them.  "Let us proceed, then."

Ba'ruq stood formally.  "Tom Paris, you have command."

"Ba'ruq, son of Qarb, you are hereby relieved of duty." 

As the door swished behind them the EMH said, "It's good to see you 
on your feet again, Mr. Paris."

"It's good to be on them.  Let's see if we can avoid a repeat.  Life with 
the Runners is rarely boring but I could do without going through 
that again."

"So what mission are we on now?"

"I'm not sure yet.  I'm sure there's something out there for us to do."  
Tom clapped the hologram on the shoulder.  "Why don't you get your 
new sick bay in order and test out your new hardware.  Let Ba'ruq 
know if anything is wrong.  I'll be on the bridge if you need me."  
Halfway out the door, Tom paused.  Without turning he said, "Doc?"

"Yes, Mr. Paris?"

He chose to make his point directly.  "It isn't safe out here.  You know 
that, don't you?  If we'd left you where you were, you wouldn't risk 
being destroyed." 

"Mr. Paris."  The hologram's voice made Tom turn to face him.  "I am 
here by my own free will, whatever algorithm generates it.  I did not 
have to prepare myself for download, and I chose to do so.  I prefer 
life to not-life, and destruction to limbo."

The words convinced Tom that taking the EMH had been the right 
thing.  He chose to express his complete thoughts lightly.  "Well, the 
first thing you might want to do with your life is change your matrix 
out of that Starfleet uniform."

"Now that is an interesting proposition.  It might require some 
experimentation.  I assume the Klingon vest is optional?" the Doctor 
added archly.

"Of course.  Welcome, Doc."

"I am pleased to be here, Mr. Paris."

Tom nodded and strode out.

His eagerness to resume command was only increased when he was 
met on the bridge by enthusiasm, applause, and smiles.  There was a 
general noise of greetings, and Tom was pleased to note that the 
Logan's original crew seemed as happy to see him as his own ship's 
survivors.

Finally people began to drift back to their stations, but one lingered 
behind, a Bajoran woman who was the navigator from Tom's original 
crew.  "Leenya," he said, inviting her to speak.

"You're wearing Bellor's earring," she said, loud enough for the crew 
to hear.

No one had mentioned it before, and Tom was mildly surprised at 
her words.  The earring had become an accustomed weight and noise, 
and he often forgot it was there.  Leenya was waiting.

"I saw his parents on Deep Space Nine.  They gave me their 
permission to honor his memory this way.  Terat Bellor was a --"  
Tom broke off.  He'd been about to say 'fine officer.'  He'd been 
around Starfleet too much recently.  Instead he finished, "Great one 
to have at tactical.  We do not forget him," he added deliberately.

The bridge crew answered together, "We forget no one."  It was the 
ending of the memorial Tom had begun to use since he'd gotten a 
crew, when he needed to be a captain and give his people closure 
when they lost comrades.  It had spread to all the Runner ships.  
They had already mourned their dead, but as they said, they would 
not forget.  

"So where to, Tom?"

He had known this question was coming, but he still wasn't ready to 
answer.  "Anything going on I should know about?"

"Battle in sector 225 was pretty fierce.  Rumor has it the Dominion 
was shooting at most of the escape pods," Leenya answered.  

"Anyone we know?"

Tom couldn't miss the way people caught each other's eyes, and no 
one looked at him.  

"We didn't tell Ba'ruq yet."  Leenya seemed to have been silently 
elected spokesperson.

"Didn't tell him what?"

"Wolf Raider has been destroyed, Tom."

Empty.  Suddenly he was empty, and all the glow of his homecoming 
was gone.  The great focus that is the core of a good pilot came to his 
rescue.  He needed more information.

"Put in a call to Starfleet Headquarters.  Ask for Admiral Janeway."

A moment later Janeway's face appeared. "I'm glad you contacted 
me, Tom.  I've been trying to raise the White Raven for an hour."

"We're both aboard the Logan.  I heard about Wolf Raider.  Did they 
find him?  Is there any news?"

Janeway took a deep breath.  "You're not going to like this.  I don't 
like this.  An empty pod was found that had traces of blood from 
Chakotay and a lot of blood from a certain Ensign Nwateo Sehm."

Tom's stomach dropped.  "Empty?"

"Yes."  Janeway looked grim.  "If either one of them is found, there's 
sure to be an enquiry.  The pod was well behind the Dominion battle 
lines, and..."

"And what?" Tom insisted.

"There were traces of a Dominion transporter."

"No."  Tom's denial was a flat statement.  This couldn't be true.

"We don't know anything more right now."

"Sector 225?"  Tom turned to Leenya.  "What's the closest Dominion 
prison camp?"

"Tishaben Four.  We have the location but no other information."

"Tom!"  Janeway pulled his attention back to the viewscreen.  "We 
don't have all the facts yet, and there are still a few escape pods that 
haven't yet been retrieved."

"Harry?"

"He's safe on the flagship.  Harry said Chakotay insisted on stopping 
by his cabin for something."  Janeway shook her head.  "A lot of 
captains go down with their ships that way."

Tom felt a twinge of guilt, hoping it wasn't the bowl that Chakotay 
had stopped to get.  Then he realized that it must have been the 
Akoonah.  "He wouldn't leave without his medicine bundle, you know 
that."

"Well, he may have died with it."   Her anger was tense and 
understated.

Tom let his need to sooth her distance him from the news.  "Kathryn, 
you're the one who said we don't know anything yet.  He's smart and 
tough.  If anyone survives, he will.  Besides, if he went down with 
the ship, how could he bleed in an escape pod?"

"True.  Please, don't do anything until all the pods are in.  We may 
yet find him."

"I'll wait a day, Kathryn."

"Fair enough.  I'll tell you everything I can, when I can."

"Thanks.  Thank you, Captain."

She smiled despite her evident worry.  "Talk to you soon, 
'Lieutenant'.

The screen went blank.  Tom stared at it for a moment before 
moving to the communications station.  He leaned over the shoulder 
of the man from the Logan's original crew, a tall human named Ben 
who was half Indian, and keyed in a frequency that Mack had given 
him.

An unfamiliar male-sounding computer voice answered, "Voice print 
identification."

"So, how's Aunt Sophie these days?"  Tom said.  To Ben's quizzical 
look he explained, "It's not a password.  It just needs a few seconds 
of speech.  I could recite warp equations."

"ID complete," the computer voice answered.  "Transferring comm 
signal."

The iron grey of Admiral Rand's hair filled the screen.  "Rand here," 
she said crisply.

"Admiral.  How's Mack?"

"Surviving his first week in command school"  She smiled and added, 
"I warned him it was hard to get used to being saluted.  But that's 
not why you called on this link."

"No, ma'am. It's about Wolf Raider," Tom said, sparing no time to get 
to the point.  "Has the Chakotay been found?  Or the Betazoid?  I 
heard about the empty pod."

"Chakotay's recovery is not yet official knowledge," she said quietly.

"Which means he has been found?"  Tom was nearly elated, but her 
manner set off warnings.

"He was recovered today in an escape pod with his CMO and his ops 
officer.  Both Vulcans."

"If Chakotay was in a pod with the two Vulcans how could he bleed 
somewhere else?"

"So you know about that.  The Betazoid may have been playing both 
sides," Rand continued.  "His fingerprints were on the control panel 
that set the pod's course toward Dominion space."

"What if Dahl was also a Dominion spy, and Chakotay figured it out 
and tried to stop him?"

"We don't know.  It's a possibility.  Chakotay was in pretty bad 
shape, with a broken jaw and orbital bone both, and Srinak, his CMO, 
is certain the injuries came from an attack."

Tom's internal alarms went off.  "What does Chakotay say?"

Rand sighed.  "He says he has some gaps in his memory.  There's 
going to be a hearing, I'm sure.  Admiral Nachayev seems to have a 
personal interest in the missing ensign."

"And she's...?"  Tom didn't finish the question, not over even a 
supposedly secure link.  Was she part of Section Thirty-one?

"I think so, but I've never been able to prove it.  She's very smart, 
and very careful.  Even the hearing she wants is above board and 
within character for her."  Rand glanced to the side, then back at the 
screen.  "I have to go.  I'll tell you what I know, when I know it.  
You'll know how to find the message.  Rand out."

Tom leaned back reflectively, remarking that Kathryn would tell him 
what she could, but that Rand would till him what she knew.  
Interesting difference.

He'd told Chakotay who and what Sehm really was, and he knew his 
old lover well enough to guess what might have happened.  Chakotay 
the Maquis was quite capable of making it look like Sehm had sent 
himself toward Dominion lines.  If Starfleet figured it out, there could 
be trouble.  The only thing Tom didn't understand was why the 
Dominion would have captured the Betazoid rather than destroying 
the escape pod like they had so many others.

"Where to, Tom?" came the question again, after a moment's silence.

"Earth."