Episode 49 - Favorite Son
Stardate: 42012.2
Earth Standard Date: January 05, 2365.
Voyager Standard Date: September 14, 2373.
Location: Personal Reality
Tyson had let Bastila design the temple. She had drawn from her memory of the High Council spires, the colonnades of Coruscant. All of it lay atop a mountain of kyber. Through the tall windows, the stairs were visible. Bastila hadn't designed those; he had. A zigzag cut into a sheer black cliff, running down from the temple island to the mainland, to the coast of Crete.
Meetra stopped at the threshold of the chamber and did not step in. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold, though the air was warm.
"I have been in the High Council chamber on Coruscant," she said. "Twice. Once as a padawan. Once on trial." Her eyes traced the ribbing of the ceiling, the long fall of the columns, the way the light was moving where no sun fell. "This is not that place."
"No," Tyson said. "But it's what she remembered of it."
"Who?"
"A friend."
Kreia walked past them both. She had picked up, somewhere between the bay and the temple, a plain shaft of sand-colored wood to use as a cane. The hand that held it was the one that had been cut off in the corridor of the Harbinger; under the sleeve, it was whole and unscarred, and she moved it as if she had always moved it, and perhaps, for her, now, she had. She stopped in the center of the floor for a long moment and breathed out through her nose.
"A mountain," she said.
"Yes," Tyson said.
"Beneath us. Singing."
"Yes."
"You built a temple on top of a lightsaber."
"More or less."
"Curious." She turned her blind face to him. "And the land around, this coast, this sea. None of it belongs here. The Force permeates it all; it wreaks with it, yet none of it belongs anywhere. A world you keep in the folds of your own attention. So. I see now how you came to us on the Ebon Hawk. And how we left."
"I—"
"Explanations given under pressure are rarely the truth, only the version of the truth the giver can bear to offer. I will not ask you for one. Not yet."
Meetra walked carefully, testing the floor the way a person tests the ice on a pond in spring. She had on the same brown tunic she had worn in the medical bay.
"It's not really built on a lightsaber," Tyson said reassuringly.
Meetra let out a breath, then chuckled. When she looked at him, she seemed embarrassed, wanting to change the subject, she asked, "The Sith Lord."
Tyson nodded. "Sion."
"You killed him."
"I'm not sure killed is the right word. I took away his ship. I left him in the vacuum of space. And then I lit the fuel in what was left of Peragus."
Kreia let out a small laugh.
"You unmade them," Meetra said. "The Ebon Hawk, too. The ship I woke up on."
"Yes."
"Most who would end a Sith reach for a blade. You unmade the board, then starved the piece. There is an elegance in it that I find... almost offensive." Kreia commented.
"Should I take that as a compliment?"
"Take it as a warning. Anything that can be erased by a thought is erased by a thought, apprentice."
Meetra glanced between them. "Apprentice?"
"I did not say whose," Kreia said.
Tyson let that one pass. He had stopped trying to catch every one of Kreia's sentences and decipher their meaning. She was a woman who could make pass the salt sound like a prophecy; the only way to live with her was to decide, from moment to moment, which sentences mattered, and let the rest go.
"He was one of three," Tyson said. "Sion. There are more like him."
"Indeed. And how would you come to know that, I wonder."
"We all have secrets."
For a moment, she did nothing. Then her mouth moved into another small smile. "So we do."
"What of the others?" Meetra asked.
"The others." Kreia moved at last, walked to one of the tall windows, and set her hand against the transparisteel. "One bathes in pain. Feeds on it. Is fed by it. He is the one you left adrift in the vacuum. I believed him to be difficult to kill, perhaps impossible. The Sith, such as these, do not die the way other things die. Death, for them, is a door they have already walked through once. The second walk is merely longer. But perhaps you have succeeded. Perhaps you have not."
"Comforting."
"I did not say it to comfort you. Another has ceased to be a living being, consumed by hunger so old he has forgotten his own flesh. And the last is a creature of betrayals, for without such things there is no hope. As long as any one of them lives, all of us are threatened. So it has been said. So I have said it, and I have rarely been wrong in what I have said, though I have often been wrong in what I have meant by saying it."
Tyson took the first part of what she said about the other two of the Sith Triumvirate, some of that, he was going to push back against. The rest of it felt like her jibberish since she talked back upon what she said. But he read 'I have often been wrong in what I have meant by saying it' as a longwinded way of saying, 'I'm lying'.
"The last one," he said. "The creature of betrayals. You know her."
"I know her."
"Is that all you're going to say?" It wasn't much, but Kreia had confirmed that the Sith Lord was a woman. And that was confirmation enough of what Tyson already knew.
"For now." Kreia turned from the window. "I have not recovered enough to speak of her. And you have not recovered enough to hear of her. One at a time, apprentice. The galaxy is not going anywhere. It is only going in a particular direction, and we have a little while yet before it arrives."
He took them down a side corridor to the armory. This room had a long central case running the length of the floor, and under the glass of the case, in a line of velvet cradles, the hilts.
There were more than forty of them. Tyson had made some of them himself, others Vicky had designed, and several were duplicates of the originals acquired through his past adventures. Most of the lightsabers were green, but there was purple in the middle of the case, and a pair of red ones kept carefully separate, and a single yellow one that Tyson had built because it had pleased him to build it, yet he had never wielded it.
Meetra stood in front of the case for a long time.
"I have not wielded one properly in almost ten years."
"You don't look that old."
"You lie." She looked up at him.
"You don't look a day over twenty-four."
Meetra rolled her eyes and looked back at the case. "Blue," she said. And then, more quietly, almost to herself, "I was always blue."
He slid the glass aside, and she picked up the hilt she wanted, not one of the ornate ones, a plain cylinder of brushed durasteel, no ridges, no inlay. She weighed it in her palm but did not ignite it. Her knuckles had gone white on the grip, and her face had a complex expression.
"Thank you."
"It's yours," he said. "If you stay. If you go. Either way."
"Then I should earn it."
She clipped it to her belt.
Kreia had not come into the armory. She had stopped at the threshold, as she had stopped at the threshold of the main chamber, and was standing with her head slightly cocked as if listening to the hilts themselves. After a while, she said, "He keeps a quiet armory. No trophies. I approve. Shall we begin, or shall we continue admiring his generosity?"
The training hall opened off the eastern side of the temple, a broad square room with a vaulted ceiling and a floor of dark pressure-treated wood, the kind of wood that did not scorch when a lightsaber blade drew close but would scorch if a lightsaber blade touched. Mirrored columns ran down the long walls in pairs. A person training in the center could see themselves from four angles.
He pulled his green blade and stood on the central tile.
"I was on Tatooine two days ago," he said. "I fought a Sith. A Zabrak. His style was nothing I'd trained against. He came at me. Acrobatic. Relentless. A double blade. I was losing until a Jedi stepped in to assist me. The Jedi's form moved differently, aggressive but measured. Between the two of us, we broke him off."
Kreia had not taken a blade. She stood at the edge of the tile with her hands folded into her sleeves.
"The Jedi beside you," she said. "Describe him."
"Older. Bearded. His blade was always attacking, but smooth, flowing between movements."
"Ataru," she said. "A form well suited to a man who has made his peace with dying, and has decided to make the other man dead first. And the Sith you fought. He used Ataru too."
"I didn't know that."
"Of course you didn't. He used it badly. Or rather, he used it mixed. A cocktail. One form for his feet, another for his hands. The result is a warrior who is very difficult to survive and very easy to defeat, if one knows how."
"And how does one?"
Kreia stepped onto the tile.
"One does not meet him where he is strong. Ataru is a form for a single opponent on open ground. Crowd it. Bring a second blade. A second body. A blaster, if you have one. Ataru's strength is its fury; its weakness is that fury costs. The longer you make such a man fight, the more of himself he spends. A wielder of Ataru will kill you in the first three passes or die in the tenth. So, then. Do not be in the third pass. Do not let him see you until the tenth."
"And if I want to use it myself."
She turned her blind face to him.
"Ah."
"I asked about it because I lost," Tyson said. "And because I'm going to be fighting again, soon, someone worse than the one on Tatooine. And I don't want to lose again."
"Someone worse than the one on Tatooine," she repeated. "You do know a great deal. More than a young Jedi of your age and training ought to know. More, perhaps, than is kind to the one teaching you." She tilted her head. "We all have secrets, I believe you said."
"We do."
"Good. Keep them. But understand this, apprentice. I will not teach you Ataru so that you may use it. That is not how this form is learned. I will teach you Ataru so that you understand what Ataru wants of you, and decide, with that understanding, whether you can afford to give it what it wants. Ataru demands that you believe, for the length of a strike, that you are the only living thing in the room. A man who truly believes that is very hard to hit. A man who pretends to believe it is dead in the next exchange. You are a man who pretends a great deal, apprentice. I am not yet sure which kind of Ataru wielder you would make."
Tyson absorbed that. It took a second. It took a second because it was true, and because she had found it. He had spent a long time building himself, his Character Sheet, his Personal Reality. The whole time, he'd shown everyone a surface and kept what lay under it to himself; all these worlds he was encountering were worlds he'd seen before, knew of. He knew the people, yet none of them knew him, not truly. And here was a blind woman who had known him for less than a day, telling him she could see the seams.
"Fair."
"Fair." She made the word sound small. "Take your stance."
He shifted, feet wider, knees softer, weight settling into the back leg more than he usually let it. The blade came up at a low guard, angled.
"Hm." Kreia did not move. "You rely on strength. You are stronger than a man your age and build should be, and you know it, and you have been forgiven for it by every opponent you have ever faced, because they did not expect it. Ataru will not forgive you for it. Ataru is not a form for the strong. It is a form for the fast. Meetra."
Meetra, who had been standing at the edge of the tile, looked up.
"You were trained in this form."
"I was. I am."
"Your body remembers. Your mind does not need to. Come."
Meetra stepped onto the tile. Her blue blade ignited. The sound of it was small, and she closed her eyes for half a second when it lit, as if she were tasting something she had thought she would never taste again. Then she opened her eyes, and her stance came up out of her.
"Show him," Kreia said. "Slowly. The first sequence only. Hands, feet, line of attack. Let him see the form, not the fight."
Meetra moved.
She was rusty. The half-second lag between her shoulders and her hips gave it away. But the form was there underneath the rust like an old road, still running to the same place it had always run to. A lunge, a rising arc, a half-step and a pivot, a downward strike that came from the hip and not the arm. She stopped at the end of the sequence and stood very still, and her chest rose and fell.
"Again," Kreia said.
She did it again.
"Again."
She did it a third time, and this time the lag was gone, and Tyson understood that he was watching something return to its owner, in pieces, in real time. And that Kreia had known it would. And that this, the lesson, the form, the blade, had been for Meetra as much as it had been for him.
He stood at the edge of the tile and did not interrupt.
"Watch her feet," Kreia said after the third sequence.
He watched her feet.
"Not where they land. Where they leave. The ground she abandons. That is Ataru. Every other form teaches you to own the ground beneath you. Ataru teaches you to spend it. You are purchasing distance, apprentice. You are purchasing angles. The coin is the earth under your heel, and you will never get it back, so you must be certain. Certain. That what you buy with it is worth the price."
Meetra held her position at the end of the third sequence, blade extended, weight on her forward foot.
"The lunge," Kreia said. "Show him the lunge again. Only the lunge."
Meetra reset. She dropped her weight into her back leg, blade low, and then she moved a single explosive step, the blade rising from her hip in a tight arc that ended at the height of a man's throat. She stopped there.
"You see," Kreia said. "The power comes from the ground. Not the arm. Not the shoulder. She pushes the planet away from her and the planet, being larger, does not move, so she moves instead. This is the secret that Ataru keeps from its students at first and then reveals as if it were a gift. It is not a gift. It is a debt. Every lunge of that kind costs something. Meetra."
"Yes."
"How old were you when you learned this?"
"Fourteen."
"And how old were you when you understood what it cost?"
Meetra was quiet for a moment. "Malachor."
"Yes. Malachor. Where she spent everything she had, and the ground she purchased with it was a graveyard, and she has been paying the debt ever since." Kreia's voice held no sympathy. No cruelty either. "This is what Ataru asks. Remember it."
"I understand the risk," Tyson said. "The lunge. The ground you give up. Defense traded for offense. But I don't understand what that has to do with Malachor."
Kreia was quiet long enough that the hum of Meetra's blade became the loudest thing in the room.
"You will," she said. "But since you have asked, and since asking is the only virtue I have ever respected in a student, I will tell you." She turned her blind face toward Meetra, who had not moved from her extended position, who had not asked, but who was listening with an expression that said she already knew what was coming. "Malachor was a lunge. For the Mandalorians, the Republic, and for her. All committed everything. Every ship. Every soldier. Every friend she had left and several she had already lost. She pushed off the ground of who she had been, and she purchased, with that push, a victory so complete that it broke the Mandalorians, broke the Republic fleet, broke the planet itself, and broke the ones who ordered it, and the one who followed the order."
Meetra's blade lowered an inch.
"That is what Ataru teaches, if you survive long enough to learn it. The form does not care whether you win. The form cares whether you commit. And commitment, apprentice, is not courage. Courage can be measured. Courage can be spent wisely. Commitment is the moment you decide there is nothing behind you worth returning to, and so you go forward, and what you find there is what you find."
Meetra still didn't move. She held the position.
Kreia was cruelest in the moments she was teaching the most, and interrupting her then, like Ataru, had a cost. Neither of them was willing to pay.
"Now," she said. "Take your blade. Mirror her stance."
He did. Back leg loaded, blade low, the way Meetra had held it. It felt wrong immediately. His weight wanted to sit in the center, balanced, the way it did in Shii-Cho, the only other form he knew.
"You are bracing," Kreia said. "Stop bracing. Ataru does not brace. Ataru has already decided to move. You are standing as a man stands who expects to receive a blow. Stand as one who has already decided where the blow will land and has chosen how to handle it or not to be there when it arrives."
He adjusted. Shifted more weight back. Let his front foot go lighter.
"Better. Worse. But better." She turned her head toward Meetra. "Correct his blade."
Meetra crossed the tile to him. She looked at his grip first, then the angle of the hilt relative to his forearm, then the line from his elbow to the emitter.
"Too high," she said. Her voice had changed. It was clipped. Direct. The first real hints of a woman who had once stood in front of other people and told them where to put their feet and expected them to do it without asking why. "Ataru's low guard starts here." She put two fingers on the flat of his blade just above the hilt and pushed it down three inches. "If you start higher, your rising arc takes longer. Longer arc means the other person has time to read it. The whole point of the lunge is that they don't read it until it's already moving."
"Got it."
"You don't, yet. But you will." She stepped back. "Try the lunge. Don't think about the blade. Think about the ground."
He pushed off his back foot the way she had, tried to find that explosive transfer of weight, and covered about two-thirds of the distance she had covered. The blade came up late. He knew it came up late because Meetra was already shaking her head before he finished the motion.
"You're muscling it," she said. "You're trying to push yourself forward with your leg. That's not what I did. Watch." She reset beside him, close enough that he could see the mechanics of it. "The push comes from releasing. You're coiled. You let the coil go. You add force to it, but more so, you stop holding it back. You use your strength like a crutch, not as a strength of its own."
She demonstrated. The same lunge, the same distance, the same rising arc. Standing next to her, he felt the displacement of air.
"Again," Kreia said, from the edge of the tile.
He tried again. Better. The blade came up closer to where it should have been. His balance was wrong at the end of it, weight too far forward, and he had to catch himself with a half-step that Meetra would not have needed.
"The half-step will kill you," Kreia said. "In a fight, the half-step is the moment your opponent's blade finds your chest. You must arrive in balance, or you must not arrive. There is no middle."
"I'm working on it."
"You are. That is why I have not stopped you. Meetra. The recovery. Show him."
Meetra showed him the recovery; the way the back foot came forward after the lunge to catch the weight, the way the blade dropped from the extended position into a middle guard that could become either a parry or a second strike. She did it three times, each time a little faster, and by the third time the lunge and the recovery had become a single motion.
"The sequence," Kreia said. "Both of you. Together. Slowly."
They stood side by side on the tile. Meetra counted them in with a nod, and they moved through the first sequence together, lunge, rising arc, half-step, pivot, downward strike. Tyson was half a beat behind her on every transition. His pivot was too wide. His downward strike came from the shoulder instead of the hip, and he felt the difference even as he did it.
Meetra stopped at the end and looked at him. She did not correct him with words. She simply did the downward strike again, alone, and let him see where the motion lived in her body, in the rotation of the hip, the blade following the body the way a whip follows the hand.
He tried it her way. Closer. Not right, but closer.
"Again," Kreia said.
When they finally stopped, Kreia said, without turning, "Apprentice. You will be wanted elsewhere."
"Will I?"
"Your machine. I can feel her pacing from here. She wishes to plan with you. Go and plan. Leave the blind and the exiled women to their blades. We have a great deal to remember, Meetra and I, and we will remember it better without an audience."
Tyson hesitated at the edge of the tile.
Meetra said quietly, "Go. I am all right."
She was, too. He felt it in the Force, as a brightness, one that grew greater than it had been ten minutes ago. Whatever had been severed in her at Malachor had not grown back yet. But the sparks of it had been lit.
He killed his blade, and left them there; the old woman and the younger one, alone on a wooden floor under a vaulted ceiling, at the top of a mountain of singing crystal, on an island in a sea, on a world that did not exist in their universe.
Behind him, as the doors closed, he heard Kreia say, "Again."
— Star Jumper —
Tyson stepped through the portal and into the Control Room.
The space had been rearranged like the bridge of a ship. A long curved console dominated the far wall, its surface alive with soft readouts and status feeds tracking every corner of the Personal Reality. Above it, a wide display panel sat dark for now, waiting. The conference table in the center of the room could seat eight.
Vicky moved to the console. "We need to be prepared. The Sith Lords Drawback. There are so many we'll need to fight. And we're limited to two Companions helping you at any given time."
Tyson pulled out a chair at the conference table and sat. He'd been thinking about this. "I'd like Bastila and D'Lavina to join us."
Vicky turned from the console. "I get Bastila. But really? D'Lavina?" She crossed her arms. "Why the change of heart?"
"I thought about what you said. You were right. I've been avoiding her. Ignoring her. She stepped up to fight beside me on Tatooine without being asked, and it's time I started acting like I promised I would." He paused. "And with Lady Q watching and interfering, I don't want to give her any more ways to mess with me. We have nine Sith to contend with. We don't need D'Lavina becoming one of them."
Vicky nodded and turned back to the console, cycling through location feeds. She had full access to the Control Room systems and could find anyone within the Personal Reality in seconds. Colored markers appeared on a schematic of the island, the temple, and the surrounding grounds.
"What about Kreia and Meetra?" she asked.
"Kreia is a good teacher," Tyson said. "But I don't trust her fully. Meetra will keep her occupied. They're working through the lightsaber forms together. That's good for both of them. Kreia is one of the Sith we'll need to fight eventually."
"She's the Betrayer. I'll do what I can to turn her to our side fully, but that's a problem for the future. Right now, we need to focus on the others. Meetra will keep her occupied for a while."
Vicky was quiet for three seconds. That was a long time for her.
"If you think that's right," she said. "But I'm concerned with her being here, leaving her in a position to influence Meetra. I'll keep an eye on her."
"Thank you."
She opened two portals.
D'Lavina stepped through the first. The Orion woman was green-skinned like others of her race, and built like someone who had been designed to be looked at. She had once been a Mary Sue he'd had to fight against. The second portal opened, and Bastila Shan stepped through. She wore her robes with her double-bladed lightsaber hung at her hip.
D'Lavina looked at Tyson, then at Vicky, then at Bastila.
"What's the situation?" she asked. "Another Sith?"
"Not yet," Tyson said. "We're preparing. I wanted to invite you to be part of this."
Surprise, genuine and unguarded, moved across D'Lavina's face. She didn't comment on it. Neither did he. She pulled out a chair and sat.
Bastila took the seat across from her. Vicky remained standing at the console, close enough to the table to be part of the conversation, close enough to the display to control it.
Tyson put his hands flat on the table.
"The Sith we fought on Tatooine was only the start. There are nine we need to defeat. Masters and apprentices both."
Bastila's posture changed. "Nine," she said. "Of his skill?"
"That wasn't the master. That was an apprentice."
The room was quiet.
"Darth Maul. He's still out there. We'll face him again." Tyson looked at the display on the wall as Vicky brought it to life. "Darth Sion. I fought him. He's dead. That leaves seven more."
The display read:
Darth Maul
Darth Sion — Deceased
"We know of the Sith Triumvirate," Tyson continued. "Sion was one. Darth Nihilus and the Betrayer are the other two."
Two more names appeared:
Darth Nihilus
The Betrayer
D'Lavina was watching the display. Bastila was watching Tyson.
"The next Sith is waiting on Coruscant." Tyson kept his voice level. This was the part that mattered. This was the part that changed everything. "He's hidden from the eyes of the galaxy and the Jedi both. Darth Sidious. He's a Senator of the Galactic Republic. Sheev Palpatine. Right now, the planet he represents, Naboo, is under blockade by the Trade Federation. Palpatine is playing both sides. He's going to use this crisis to have the Chancellor replaced, and then he's going to take the position himself."
A fifth name joined the display:
Darth Sidious
D'Lavina looked from the display to Tyson.
"I had a hard time fighting Darth Maul," he said. "Darth Sidious, Palpatine, is far stronger. Right now, the Naboo Queen is heading to Coruscant to plead for the Republic's help. Her plea will fall on deaf ears. She'll request a vote of no confidence in the Chancellor. He'll be voted out, and sympathy for Naboo will lead to Palpatine earning the role."
Bastila shook her head slowly. "A Sith Lord in control of the Republic. The Order would never allow it if they knew."
"They don't know," Tyson said. "And he's been hiding under their noses for years."
D'Lavina leaned back in her chair, one arm draped over the backrest. "So we need to either expose this guy or prevent the vote from happening."
"Trying to expose him will put us in direct conflict with him," Tyson said. "And either way, the Republic won't be interfering in the blockade. It'll be up to us and the Queen to find a way to break it. The Trade Federation uses droids for its army and armada. Thousands of them. Battle droids, droidekas, vulture fighters. We'll also likely encounter Maul again on Naboo when we return."
Vicky turned from the console. "So we need to undermine a strong Sith politician, break a blockade, and fight the Sith that held his own against us already." She counted them off on her fingers. "All at once."
"All at once," Tyson confirmed.
D'Lavina said, "The Senator is easy."
Tyson looked at her. She continued without waiting for the question. "All you need to do is expose him. The Republic fought that war against the Sith that only ended when you killed Malak. They wouldn't stand for being led by one. The hatred runs too deep. Too many dead. All you need to do is expose him as a Sith, and the Jedi will step in. You just need to find a public way to do it that can't be dismissed or ignored."
Bastila was nodding. "She's right. If there were incontrovertible proof, the Senate and the Order would have no choice but to act. Palpatine's political protections would mean nothing against that accusation if it could be substantiated."
Tyson nodded. "I have some ideas. Thanks for the suggestion." D'Lavina had cut straight to the core of it without needing to understand the full political landscape. That was useful. That was exactly why he'd wanted her here.
"The blockade is the other problem," he said. "The Trade Federation has a fleet of Lucrehulk-class battleships in orbit and enough battle droids to occupy a planet. Which they've already done."
She whistled low through her teeth.
Vicky pulled up the station's production manifest on the display. "We could have the Automated Repair Facility begin building forces to combat the droid armada. We have the manufacturing capacity."
"Make it our top priority. We have schematics for everything in the Sith armada from Malak. HK droids, Interdictor-class cruisers, Sith Interceptors. All of it." He pointed at the production queue on the display. "Let's keep the Soong-Type androids as officers. You can coordinate through them, and we'll use the less resource-intensive HK droids as fodder. They're far faster to produce. Against Trade Federation battle droids, they'll be superior in every engagement. Actually, instead of Sith Interceptors, let's use those drones we acquired from Minos. They will be far stronger, can be easily coordinated, and they'll be something the Trade Federation has never seen before."
Vicky was already inputting parameters.
Bastila was watching the production estimates populate on the display. Numbers climbing. Timelines forming. "This is an armada," she said quietly.
"It's a response," Tyson said. "To another Sith fleet. This one is just controlled from the shadows instead of Malak being at its head."
Vicky added, without looking up from the console, "We won't be able to reach numbers that match theirs within days. But we'll be a threat. Enough to tip the balance if the Naboo can field their own pilots."
"Good," Tyson said. "That's all we need. We don't have to win the space battle alone. We can target the Trade Federation leadership, their Viceroy. But with the drones fighting in space, we can field our own droids on the ground. We just need to—"
"Tyson." Vicky's hands stopped on the console. Her head turned sharply, not toward Tyson but toward something none of them could see. Something internal. "My program within Voyager indicates they are under attack."
He was already standing. "Open it."
Vicky's hand swept across the console, and a portal tore open at the far end of the Control Room, its edges crackling with displaced energy. Through it lay the bridge of the USS Imperator, his Iconic Interceptor in the form of a Galaxy-class vessel, red alert lighting already painting the bulkheads in pulses.
They moved together. Tyson first, D'Lavina half a step behind him, Bastila bringing up the rear with her hand already on her lightsaber hilt. They stepped through onto the bridge, and Tyson crossed to the captain's chair in three strides. The Hardened Crew member occupying it stood without a word, vacating the seat and stepping to a secondary station.
Tyson sat. The chair's armrest displays lit with tactical data. "Report."
Vicky appeared at the operations console, already interfaced with the ship's systems. She opened a portal on the main viewscreen, large enough for the Imperator to pass through, and the stars beyond it were unfamiliar, and full of weapons fire.
The ship went through.
"Voyager was attacked, two more hostile ships are closing, Voyager is retreating."
— Star Jumper—
"Let's mark the coordinates of that trinary star," Chakotay said. "It'll be a good reference point for this sector."
Kim looked up from his console, a strange unease settling over him. "Didn't we already pass a trinary system like this?"
"Not that I remember." Chakotay half-turned. "Why?"
"It just seems familiar."
"Perhaps you are experiencing a paradoxical state-dependent associated phenomenon," Tuvok offered from tactical.
Janeway glanced back from where she stood near the helm. "Deja vu."
"Yeah." Kim shook his head, trying to clear the sensation. "I guess so."
He returned his attention to his station, but the feeling didn't leave. It sat with him, heavy and wrong, and he couldn't shake the certainty that he'd seen those three stars before.
"Captain," Tuvok said, "there is a ship approaching. Bearing two one five mark eight."
"On screen."
The vessel that appeared was compact, angular, its hull plating a dull bronze. Military in design, clearly, but not overtly hostile in posture.
"Their shields are down, and their weapon systems are unpowered," Tuvok reported.
"They're hailing us," Kim said.
"Open a channel."
The viewscreen shifted to show the bridge of the alien vessel. The captain was humanoid, broad-shouldered, with ridged skin along his temples.
"My respects to you," the alien said. "I'm Alben, Captain of the Narada."
"Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager."
"I thought I was familiar with every type of ship in this sector, but I've never seen anything like yours before."
"We're not from around here," Janeway said, warmly. First contact protocol. Measured friendliness.
"In that case," Alben said, spreading his hands, "let me welcome you to Nasari territory."
Ensign Kim knew. He knew that the ship was going to fire. In seconds. And everyone on this bridge would die if he didn't act.
"That ship's going to fire!" He was already rerouting tactical control.
"What?" Chakotay turned sharply.
"Captain, we've got to defend ourselves."
"I am detecting no threat," Tuvok said. "Tactical control has been moved to the Ops station. Our weapons systems are charging."
Kim didn't hesitate. Couldn't hesitate. Hesitation meant death. He knew it without knowing how.
"Raising shields and firing phasers."
The beam lanced out, orange-gold against the blackness of space, and punched through the Narada's starboard wing. Atmosphere vented in a white plume. Debris spun away.
For one terrible second, the bridge was silent.
Then the Narada's remaining weapons came alive.
"Direct hit," Tuvok reported. "They are returning fire."
"Red alert!" Janeway called as the deck lurched beneath them. Consoles sparked. The lighting shifted to crimson.
The two ships traded fire, phasers and torpedoes crossing in the space between them. Voyager shuddered with each impact, the inertial dampeners struggling to compensate.
"Hail them," Janeway ordered. "We've got to put a stop to this."
"Captain, I had to act quickly—"
"You will explain yourself, Mister Kim, but right now you're relieved. Commander, you're at Ops."
Chakotay was already moving, sliding into the station Kim vacated. Kim stepped back, hands shaking, and stood behind the railing with nothing to do but watch.
"They are not responding to hails," Tuvok said.
Torres's voice crackled over the comm. "There's pressure building up in plasma conduit G-six. Ashmore, open up the emergency vent. I'll try to reroute the plasma flow."
"Shields are down to seventy percent," Tuvok reported.
"Get us out of here," Janeway said.
"Warp engines are down," Chakotay said from Ops.
"They are in pursuit."
"Bridge to Engineering. What's the status of the warp drive?"
"The plasma injectors are offline, Captain." Torres sounded like she was running. "We're working on them now."
Another hit rocked the ship. A conduit somewhere behind the bulkhead screamed and ruptured.
"A plasma conduit just blew in Engineering," Chakotay said, reading the damage reports as they flooded in. "Propulsion systems are down. They're reporting casualties."
"Target their weapons array and fire," Janeway said.
Tuvok complied. On the viewscreen, the Narada's forward section buckled under concentrated phaser fire.
"They've suffered damage to their weapon systems and shield emitters," Tuvok said. "They are moving away."
Janeway turned slowly to face Ensign Kim.
"I want to know exactly what you thought you were doing."
"Their weapons were charging." He could hear how it sounded, and he had no evidence, but he pressed forward anyway. "They were about to fire at us. We could have been destroyed."
"Sensor logs indicate that their weapon systems were not powered," Tuvok said.
"Then they must have fooled our sensors somehow. I detected a tetryon surge coming from their ship."
"There are many sources of increased tetryon emissions. It may have been an irregularity in their warp field."
"No." Kim's hands clenched at his sides. "It was their weapons. That whole 'welcome to Nasari territory' was a trick."
Chakotay studied him from Ops. "How could you know that?"
Kim opened his mouth but had no answer. The certainty was still there, burning in his gut, but when he reached for the reason behind it, there was nothing. Just the knowledge itself, rootless and absolute.
"I can't explain that," he said. "I just knew. I was only trying to protect the ship."
"I trust your intentions, Ensign," Janeway said, "but your actions are going to need a little more justification." She turned to Tuvok. "I want you to analyze the sensor logs and see if there's any basis for Mister Kim's hunch."
"Aye, Captain."
Half an hour later, Kim stood at attention in the ready room, hands clasped behind his back. He'd had time to think. Time to replay the moment he'd seized tactical control, the phaser beam cutting through the Narada's hull, the silence that followed. He'd rehearsed his words before coming in.
"Captain, I accept full responsibility for my mistake." He kept his voice steady. "I was completely out of line. Even if I believed that other ship was charging weapons, which they probably weren't."
Janeway sat behind her desk, coffee cup untouched beside her. She watched him for a moment, then glanced toward Tuvok, who stood near the viewport with a PADD in hand.
"Actually, Mister Kim," Tuvok said, "a more thorough analysis of the sensor data has revealed something... intriguing." He set the PADD on Janeway's desk. "They were, in fact, charging weapons."
Kim blinked.
"Harry," Janeway said, leaning forward, "they were charging weapons."
"I was right."
"Tuvok has confirmed that the tetryon surge you detected matched the energy signature of that particulate beam they shot at us during the engagement. They would have taken us completely by surprise."
Kim let out a breath. The vindication should have felt better than it did. Instead, it only deepened the wrongness that had been gnawing at him.
"As soon as I saw their ship," he said, "I felt this sudden suspicion. Loathing, even. I knew we were in trouble."
"Which brings us back to the larger question," Janeway said.
"How did I know?" Kim shook his head. "I really wish I could tell you, Captain, but for the past few days this area of space has seemed more and more familiar to me. If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd swear I've been here before."
"We'll have to consider every possible explanation."
"Oh, believe me, I have been. Space-time anomalies, alien telepathy, alternate realities. The list gets weirder as it goes on."
"Then there's your sudden illness," Janeway said, "which may not be a coincidence."
Before Kim could respond, Tuvok's voice came over the comm. "Tuvok to Janeway. There are three ships approaching of the same configuration as the Nasari vessel."
Janeway was already standing. "On my way."
The bridge was tense when they stepped out of the ready room. The main viewscreen showed three bronze shapes in formation, growing larger by the second.
"They'll intercept in thirty-six minutes," Chakotay said from the command chair, rising as Janeway took her place.
"Can we outrun them?"
"I doubt it. Engineering's still working on repairs. We could manage Warp Three at best."
"Let me see a star chart of this region." Kim moved to his station, pulling up the regional star charts. The data scrolled past and something clicked into place, that same certainty guiding his hands.He isolated a system, highlighted it. "Head for this system. I think we can make it."
Janeway turned to look at him. "Is this another hunch, Ensign?"
"We'll be safe there." He didn't blink. "I'm sure of it."
A beat of silence. Janeway looked to Tuvok. "Tactical status."
"The aft shield emitter is offline. Phasers are operational, but torpedo launchers are not." Tuvok straightened. "I strongly advise against a confrontation."
Janeway nodded once. "Follow Harry's course. Speed, as fast as we can go."
Paris lay in the heading, and Voyager jumped to warp.
Minutes bled away. The bridge crew worked as damage reports filtered in from across the ship. Kim tracked the three Nasari vessels on his console as they closed the gap.
"The Nasari vessels will overtake us in two minutes," Tuvok said.
"We're coming up on that star system," Chakotay said. "We'll pass it if we stay at warp."
"Slow to impulse." Janeway stood. "We're making our stand here."
Voyager dropped from warp, and the system filled the viewscreen. A blue-green world, ringed with wispy clouds, orbiting a warm yellow star. Kim's breath caught.
"They'll enter weapons range in a few seconds," Chakotay said.
But Kim wasn't listening. He was staring at the planet. He'd seen it before. In sleep, in fragments, in that persistent dream that had plagued him for a week. The coastlines. The cloud formations. The light along the curve of the atmosphere.
"Taresia," he said.
Janeway turned sharply. "What does that mean? Do you know this place?"
"Yes. It was in my dream."
"There is another ship approaching from the third planet," Tuvok reported.
"Is it Nasari?" Chakotay asked.
"No, but they are on an intercept course, and their weapons are fully powered."
"Prepare for evasive maneuvers."
"Aye, Captain."
Then a subspace portal tore itself into existence off Voyager's port bow, and through it came something that made Paris whistle under his breath. A Galaxy-class cruiser. It was enormous, dwarfing the Nasari vessels.
"We're being hailed," Kim said. "It's... It's the Imperator."
"On screen."
Tyson appeared on the viewscreen.
"Captain. Looks like you could use some assistance."
"We'd appreciate if you can cover us. We've taken damage."
"Understood. Get behind us. We'll handle the welcome committee."
The channel closed. On the viewscreen, the Imperator banked hard to starboard, placing itself directly between Voyager and the incoming Nasari formation.
The lead Nasari vessel fired first. The shot splashed harmlessly against the Imperator's shields. Twin phaser beams lanced out from the Galaxy-class ship's dorsal array, striking the lead pursuer. The second vessel tried to break formation and was caught by a spread of red photon torpedoes that detonated against its shields in rapid succession, collapsing them in a cascade of blue-white energy.
The third Nasari ship tried to flank, only to catch a phaser burst that carved through its port nacelle. This shot had not come from the Imperator, but from another ship that had approached from the nearby planet. All three hostile vessels were venting plasma, their weapons dark.
"We'll be all right," Kim said quietly.
"The Nasari ships are retreating," Tuvok confirmed.
Chakotay looked at Kim with bewilderment. "What's your next trick, Harry? Pull a shuttlecraft out of a hat?"
Kim didn't have an answer for that.
"Open a channel to Commander Tyson, and that Taresian ship," Janeway said, turning her attention to the vessel that had been approaching from the planet.
"They're already hailing us," Kim said.
The viewscreen shifted. A woman appeared, humanoid, with warm bronze skin and dark hair threaded through with what looked like crystalline filaments. She was smiling, and there was recognition or relief in her face. On the other side of the split was Commander Tyson on the Imperator bridge.
"Alien vessels, this is the Taresian starship. There you are!" Her smile widened. "Our sensors detected you aboard your ship. I'm glad to see you're safe."
Kim stepped forward without thinking. "Do you know me?"
"In a way," the woman, said. "I know you are one of my people."
"What?"
"You're Taresian." Her voice was warm, certain. "I'm Lyris, welcome home."
Tyson mirrored Kim's response. "What?"
Janeway turned to the Taresian woman first.
"I appreciate the help with the Nasari, and I'm certainly intrigued by what you're telling us. But you'll understand if we have some questions before we send one of our officers to the surface."
"Of course, Captain," Lyris said. "We expected nothing less. We have waited a long time for this. We can be patient a little longer."
Janeway nodded, then shifted her attention to the other half of the split screen. "Commander Tyson, thank you for the assist as well. Your timing was impeccable."
"Glad we could help. We picked up the weapons fire on… long-range sensors." Tyson paused. "I'll admit, I'm curious about this."
"Then perhaps you'd like to join us." Janeway clasped her hands behind her back. "The Taresians have invited Harry to the surface. I'd welcome your company, if you're willing."
Tyson considered it for only a moment. "More than happy to come along. Imperator out."
The screen returned to the view of the planet. The bridge crew was looking at Harry. Paris had half-turned from the helm. Chakotay studied him from the command chair, quiet and measuring.
"Harry, Tom, Tuvok." Janeway said. "Let's go."
— Star Jumper—
"I'm going to stay with Voyager until this situation is resolved," Tyson said, turning to D'Lavina. "But I have a task for you."
D'Lavina crossed her arms. "I'm listening."
"I want you to go to Tatooine and Taris. Vicky can go with you as a Grey Goo Suit and open portals for you." He pulled up his credit balance on his HUD, and looked at the number longer than he needed to; all the credits he'd built up when he'd begun in this multiverse. It had been sitting there, mostly unchanged, for months, until he gambled it all on Tatooine. "All of the credits," he said. "Everything we got from Watto. Post a bounty on Senator Sheev Palpatine. I want him exposed." He dismissed the display before the empty balance could finish loading. "We let the hired help do the work for us."
"Clever," D'Lavina said. A slow smile spread across her face. "Bounty hunters targeting a sitting senator." She uncrossed her arms. "We'll make sure it's handled."
"Take Mission with you," he added. "She'll enjoy it. Have fun, and thanks."
Tyson said it lightly, but underneath was the cold awareness that he had just pointed a great many greedy, expendable people at the most dangerous man in the galaxy. Some of them would not survive, and Sidious would know, the moment the first hunter came for him, that someone had moved against him from the shadows. He'd wanted the man exposed. He had not, until this exact second, fully reckoned with the fact that exposing a Sith Lord meant announcing himself to one. You couldn't poke something like Palpatine without it turning to look back at the hand that did it. But he supposed that was what he signed up for anyway when he picked up the Anomaly Drawback.
He finished, "Vicky, initiate site-to-site transport."
Tyson materialized alongside Tuvok at the rear of the away team, with Janeway, Kim, and Paris forming the forward group.
Dozens of them were waiting. Tall, dark-haired, with the distinctive spotted markings running along their temples and down their necks. Every single one of them was beautiful.
A woman at the front of the group stepped forward. She was older than most of the others.
"Welcome. We're so glad to have you here." The warmth in her voice seemed genuine. "This is a day of celebration. Another Taresian has returned."
A second woman, younger, with striking violet eyes, inclined her head. "Welcome."
A third moved past the others to stand directly before Kim. She reached out and took both his hands in hers. "You're home now, Harry."
Kim pulled his hands back gently. "Er, wait a minute. I still don't understand how this is possible."
Janeway stepped forward, positioning herself slightly ahead of Kim. "We'd like to ask some questions before we start celebrating."
Tyson caught Tuvok's eye. The Vulcan stood with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the assembled Taresians with the same skeptical look Tyson was giving them. Neither of them said anything. They didn't need to.
The elder woman, Lyris, spread her hands in an open gesture. "Of course."
"Our Doctor has found some genetic fragments in my DNA which could be part of an alien genetic structure," Kim said.
"Yes, those are part of your Taresian genes. They're becoming active. We'd be happy to provide your Doctor with some DNA samples for comparison."
Tyson spoke up from the back. "Hey, Harry. Can I get a lock of your hair? I want to run my own analysis alongside the Doctor's findings."
Kim turned, looking almost grateful for the interruption. "Sure." He reached up and pulled free a small lock, passing it back. Tyson pocketed it carefully.
"What I want to know is how I could have gotten them."
"You were conceived here, on this world. While you were still an embryo, you were placed in stasis and taken to Earth to be implanted in the womb of an Earth woman."
Kim's jaw tightened. "My mother. What did you do to her?"
"She would have been completely unaware of the procedure," Lyris said, her tone patient and practiced. Like she'd given this explanation before. "After the implantation process, the child begins to incorporate some DNA from the surrogate parent. You developed physically as a human, so she would have thought you were her natural child."
Movement came from the far side of the plaza. A man walked toward them, the only other male Tyson had seen since they'd beamed down. He was flanked by two women who clung to his arms with open adoration, their bodies pressed close against his sides.
"I'm Taymon, I understand how you feel," the man said. "Everyone here was born on other worlds. We all found our way back home like you, and discovered we're not quite who we thought we were."
One of the younger women touched Kim's arm. "Harry, maybe you'd like to sit down."
The violet-eyed one, Eliann, turned to her. "Why don't you go get him something to drink?"
Tuvok addressed her. "All of your children are born to alien parents?"
"Yes," Lyris said. "And when they return, each child brings an infusion of new genetic material as well as firsthand experience about another culture."
"But Harry wasn't trying to return here," Janeway said. "We came to the Delta Quadrant by accident."
"His DNA was encoded with certain instincts, including the desire to explore space." Lyris folded her hands together. "Your accident may have brought him here faster, but he always would have been driven to find his way back. You are the first to return from such a great distance."
Tyson leaned slightly toward Tuvok. "Seems unlikely, doesn't it?" he whispered. "Encoded instincts driving someone across seventy thousand light years to a specific planet? That's a hell of a homing beacon."
"Indeed," Tuvok said, his voice low enough that only Tyson could hear. "The probability of Ensign Kim reaching this quadrant through natural exploration, even over a full human lifespan, is astronomically small. The Caretaker's intervention was not a predictable event. Their explanation requires either foreknowledge of such an event or a mechanism far more sophisticated than simple genetic encoding."
"Right." Tyson crossed his arms. "And if they had that kind of technology, why bother with the whole surrogate parent routine? Just come pick him up."
"A logical observation. Additionally, the claim that all their offspring are born to alien parents raises significant demographic questions. A species that reproduces exclusively through external surrogacy would require a substantial infrastructure for implantation across multiple worlds, many of which would be hostile to unauthorized genetic procedures."
Lyris continued her explanation to Janeway and Kim. The woman's warmth never faltered. Never shifted. Like a mask that fit too well.
"Something's off about this whole setup," Tyson said.
"I concur," Tuvok said. "I would recommend we maintain a posture of cautious observation until we can verify their claims independently."
Tyson nodded. Across the plaza, the young woman had returned with a drink for Harry, pressing the glass into his hands with both of hers wrapped around his fingers. He took it, and then, without any visible hesitation, reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. The gesture was tender. Intimate. And completely unlike anything Tyson had ever seen Harry Kim do.
"Harry," Paris said sharply.
Kim blinked. He looked at his own hand like it belonged to someone else. "That's how Taresians say thank you, isn't it?" He turned back to Lyris. "But how could I know so much about a place I've never been?"
"It's been encoded into your Taresian genes. As you've gotten closer to home and seen familiar sights, your dormant genetic memory has been reawakened."
The young woman, Rinna, smiled up at him. "You'll remember more about us as you spend time here."
Eliann moved closer. "I know it all seems strange now, but you are one of us, Harry. Can't you feel it?"
Kim was quiet for a moment. His shoulders had dropped. The wariness was gone from his face. "Yes. I can."
"Then stay with us a while and celebrate. Come, have something to eat."
Paris sidled over to Taymon as the group began moving toward a long table laden with food and drink. "Is this the standard welcome home reception?"
"For males it is," Taymon said. The two women on his arms pressed closer, and he didn't seem to mind. "They're very rare. Our population is ninety percent female."
"Really?" Paris asked, surprised.
Janeway set her glass down on the edge of the table and turned to Lyris. "I want to thank you again for your help in combating the Nasari. Do you have any idea why they tried to attack us?"
"They probably detected a Taresian aboard your ship, as we did." Lyris's expression shifted, something harder settling beneath the warmth. "For the Nasari, that's reason enough to destroy you."
"Are your people at war?" Tuvok asked.
"We have no interest in fighting with them," Lyris said, "but they seem determined to destroy us. Our defense capabilities prevent them from attacking directly, but they do everything in their power to stop our people from returning home."
"I see," Tuvok said. "That might explain Mister Kim's instinctively hostile reaction to them."
"It's a defense mechanism we've programmed into all our children."
Programmed. Not inherited. Not developed. Programmed.
Janeway crossed her arms. "Are the Nasari likely to attack us again when we leave your space?"
"I think eventually they'll tire of waiting for you to come out. In the meantime, I'd advise you to simply stay here for a while."
Kim had drifted away from the table. He stood near the far wall, running his fingers along the carved stone coping that bordered the room.
"These are words," he said.
Rinna appeared at his side. "Can you read them?"
"Almost." Kim traced one of the symbols, his fingertip following the curve of it like muscle memory guiding him forward. "It's right there, just out of reach."
Eliann moved to his other side. "Our written language is very complicated. I can teach it to you, if you're interested."
"Ah, that looks good." Paris had found his way to a platter at the center of the table. He pointed at something steaming and golden. "What is it?"
A woman Tyson hadn't seen before leaned in, lifting the serving dish toward him. "Spiced hatana. I prepared it myself." She turned, holding the dish out further. "Harry, try some."
Kim didn't look up from the wall. "I'd like to find out if I have any relatives here. Maybe talk to my biological parents."
Eliann's smile dimmed, just slightly. "I'm afraid none of us get the chance to meet our fathers. They're the ones who take the embryos to other worlds." She paused. "Your father must have left here a very long time ago to make it all the way to the Alpha Quadrant."
Tuvok straightened. "Ensign, we're transporting back to the ship."
Kim finally turned from the carvings. "I'd like to stay for a while. I still have a lot of questions."
Janeway nodded. "Of course, Harry. Contact us when you're ready."
Paris clapped Kim on the shoulder as he passed. "We'll see you later."
Janeway walked into sickbay with Tuvok, Tyson a half-step behind them both.
"Molecular scan 4077," the Doctor announced as they entered sickbay. He stood beside the primary biobed, a display showing a double helix threaded with unfamiliar sequences. "It's a positive match. These genetic fragments within Ensign Kim's DNA are clearly Taresian."
Janeway stopped at the foot of the biobed. "Why haven't they shown up in his medical scans before?"
"I went back and checked his scans carefully. These fragments have apparently been disguising themselves as the recessive elements which normally exist within all DNA." The Doctor tapped the display, highlighting several clusters. "But over the past few days, they've become increasingly dominant over his human genes."
"And they've provided him with new knowledge?" Tuvok asked.
"Yes, by forming neural connections in his brain. All humanoid babies are born with certain instinctive knowledge. How to recognize the shape of a face, how to hold their breath underwater. It all comes from their genes."
Janeway folded her arms. "The Taresians must have found a way to manipulate genetic material to implant very specific knowledge into their children."
"It's scientifically plausible, but quite a feat of genetic engineering."
"So what the Taresians have been telling us appears to be true. Harry is one of their people."
"And he's becoming more like them every day, both physically and neurologically."
"I wonder how that's going to influence him when Voyager's ready to leave." Janeway turned to Tuvok. "Are the Nasari still out there?"
"All three ships are holding position just outside the Taresia system."
"Even if we can wait them out, we'd only be postponing another conflict. I'd much rather find a way to convince them we're not their enemies."
"Apparently, the Nasari only consider Ensign Kim their enemy," Tuvok said. "Perhaps they would be more receptive to diplomacy if he were not aboard."
Janeway nodded slowly. "Contact Harry. Let him know we'll be leaving orbit. With any luck, we'll be back in a few hours with this matter resolved."
Tyson pulled the lock of hair from his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. "Before we go anywhere, I want to check this against the Taresian samples. Not here." He looked at the Doctor. "In the Medical Bay."
Janeway glanced at him. "You think there's something the ship's equipment is missing?"
"I think the Microbiome Lab makes Federation medical technology look like something from my time. If there's something wrong with this picture, that's where we'll find it."
He already knew what the test would say. That was the part he could never put on the table in a room like this, that he wasn't running the analysis to learn anything, but to manufacture a proof he could hand to people who needed one, because I simply know was not something Starfleet officers could act on, and shouldn't be. It was the same shape as every conversation he'd had with Kreia; her circling the thing he wouldn't say, him producing reasons in place of the truth. He'd gotten used to building the evidence backward from the answer. He was getting good at it.
The door to the Personal Reality opened at their approach.
"Do your thing, Doc." He handed over the lock of hair.
The Doctor placed it in the analysis chamber. The machine engaged without sound, a soft blue light washing over the sample. Data began populating the display above, scrolling faster than any of them could read. The Doctor could. His eyes tracked the information with inhuman speed, and then he went very still.
"Captain." His voice had changed. The professional satisfaction was gone. "I'm beginning to question their story about Ensign Kim's birth."
"You confirmed he has Taresian DNA," Janeway said.
"I did. And he does. At least, he does now." The Doctor pulled up a comparison on the display. Two genetic profiles, side by side. One from the hair sample, one from the scan performed in sickbay last year. "But looking at these more precise scans, the Taresian DNA was clearly not something dormant; it's something new and active. I can only conclude that he wasn't born with them."
Tuvok stepped closer to the display. "Their entire story about embryo implantation was fabricated. He's human."
"Yes," the Doctor said. "Although maybe not for long. The alien DNA is continuing to alter his genetic structure. Within a few days, he'll be indistinguishable from a native Taresian."
"Do you have any idea how this new DNA could have gotten into his cells?" Janeway asked.
"The scan revealed a retrovirus. He was probably exposed during an away mission."
"Wouldn't the biofilters pick up the virus and eliminate it?" Tuvok asked.
"They may very well have. But once the virus transferred the DNA into his cells, killing the messenger wouldn't have helped."
"Is there any way to determine exactly when he was infected?"
"Indeed there is." The Doctor was already pulling transporter logs, cross-referencing them through the Microbiome Lab's systems. "The transporter buffer performs its own version of a microcellular scan every time someone uses it. The first appearance of the alien genes in his molecular pattern was on Stardate 50698."
Tuvok recognized the date. "Our away mission to the planet where we discovered the vorillium deposits. Ensign Kim was with us. He was separated from the group for approximately forty minutes."
"He might have been infected by something he ate or drank," the Doctor said. "Even something he touched."
Janeway stared at the genetic comparison on the display. Two profiles that should have been identical, and weren't. "So Harry gets infused with alien DNA, which gives him the instinctive urge to come here. Then the Taresians tell him this elaborate story to make him believe he was one of them." She turned to face the others. "Why?"
"Don't forget the welcoming committee on the planet," Tyson said. "The women hanging off him. The food, the attention, the whole production. They're giving him every reason to want to stay."
"And when we left, we made the decision easier," Tuvok said.
Janeway walked toward the door. "I think it's time we spoke to the Nasari."
An hour later, on the bridge, the viewscreen filled with Alben's face. The fleet of Nasari warships held position around both Voyager and the Imperator.
"I agree with you completely, Captain," he said. "There's no reason for further hostility between us."
"I'm glad to hear it," Janeway replied, "and I hope you'll still feel that way when Ensign Kim is back on board."
"I doubt we'll face that problem. Your crewmember won't be returning to you."
Janeway's posture shifted, interpreting his words as a threat. "What do you mean?"
"No one who comes home to Taresia ever leaves again. There are rumors about those people."
"I'm not interested in hearsay. Are there any facts you can give me?"
Alben's smile vanished. "I fire on any Taresian I see. If you take your crewmember back on board, I will attack your ship. My best advice to you is to forget him and be on your way."
The transmission cut. The viewscreen reverted to the Nasari formation, ships peeling away in pairs as they withdrew.
Chakotay turned from his station. "Do you think there's any truth to those rumors he mentioned?"
"I don't know," Janeway said, "but I'll feel better when we've got Harry back. Set a course back to the planet."
When they arrived, the Nasari homeworld was surrounded by a shimmer of energy, like a second atmosphere.
"Captain, sensors indicate a high-density polaron grid surrounding the planet," Tuvok reported.
"Polaron grid? It wasn't here before."
"A network of satellites was activated to generate it."
"Can we get through the grid?" Chakotay asked.
"Unlikely. The polaric density is too high."
"Hail them," Janeway ordered.
"Our communications are being blocked."
"I guess we're not welcome anymore," Chakotay said.
From the secondary tactical station where he'd been monitoring the situation, Tyson spoke up. "Captain, I'd like to offer my services in retrieving Ensign Kim."
Janeway turned. "Can the Imperator's transporters penetrate the polaron grid?"
"No, but my portals can bypass it. I can step directly into the reception area."
Tuvok looked up from his console. "Will the Taresians detect the portal?"
"Unknown, but doubtful. I've never noticed anyone detecting the portals. However, if they have internal sensors, they'll detect anyone I bring with me. I have a personal cloaking device available that'll make me invisible to sensors, but I can only take one other with me."
Janeway didn't hesitate. "Take Tuvok."