Chapter Text
In The Course of Justice
by Penny
"Therefore...though justice be thy plea, consider this:
that, in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation...
(The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene 1)
PROLOGUE
Friday, January 11, 2380
**ORDERS**ORDERS**ORDERS**
DATE: January 11, 2380
TO: The Officers and Crew of USS Voyager
FROM: Hayes, J. Adm./CinC/SFCBY ORDER OF STARFLEET COMMAND:
Effective IMMEDIATELY, you are hereby ORDERED to remain sequestered from all contact with all witnesses and potential witnesses who may be called to testify before the Board of Review examining the command of USS Voyager by Janeway, Kathryn M., Captain. You will not converse, correspond, or otherwise make contact with the individuals listed on Exhibit A, attached hereto. Exceptions are made for persons on the list related to one another by blood or marriage.
You are further ORDERED to remain on Earth or current location for the duration of said Board of Review. You will make your whereabouts at all times known to the Office of the Judge Advocate General. You will make yourself available to testify if and when summoned.
This order shall remain in effect until the earlier of (a) the conclusion of the Board of Review or (b) your specific release from this order in a written instruction.
/s/
Adm. Jack Hayes
Commander in Chief
Starfleet Command
Quarters of Capt. K. Janeway, Visiting Officer Quarters, Starfleet HQ
Kathryn savored the aroma and flavor of her after-dinner drink, closing her eyes in a moment of pure sensual delight. After all the hoopla surrounding Voyager's return--the publicity, the formal parties, the parades--and all the reunions, and the celebrations of Christmas, Kwanzaa, Chanukah and even an abbreviated Prixin--it was sheer bliss to have a moment of quiet reflection with friends. She was keenly aware of the silkiness of her dress, the smooth coolness of the marigold necklace around her neck, the weight of the matching bracelet on her wrist (a Prixin gift from Chakotay to mark their first anniversary together) and most of all, the rich and satisfying taste of the hot liquid sliding down her throat.
Across the table, Daeja Thev laughed out loud, her antennae curling inward in a sign of humor. "It's only coffee, you know."
"That's easy for you to say," Kathryn retorted. "You haven't spent the last eight years drinking only the replicated stuff. It's like the difference between synthehol and real brandy."
"We did find some reasonable substitutes on a few planets," Chakotay reminded her. "You liked the Vordai blend on New Hope."
She wrinkled her nose. "Comparing a brew made from shaved bark to this ambrosia is almost a sin."
"I find it hard to imagine all the discoveries you made in the Delta Quadrant." Daeja's companion for the night, (“just a friend, Kathryn!”) Karder Jhan, said. His antennae curled inward also, but Kathryn didn't know how to interpret it yet. Andorian antennae reflected emotions, but the responses were idiosyncratic. It had taken Kathryn months to learn how to read Dae's. She decided that for Karder, the inward curl signified curiosity.
"I don't mean the big things," he went on, "but the little ones, like new coffee substitutes and new songs and new foods. For example, I think I've heard the two of you mention something called 'leola root' several times tonight, but I have no idea what it is."
Kathryn and Chakotay shared a look of amusement before they began to laugh. "Oh, dear," she said. "I hadn't realized we'd done that. Leola root was so much a part of our routine that we don't think twice about it anymore."
"Leola is a root vegetable that is ubiquitous in the Delta quadrant," Chakotay explained. "It looks like a mutant parsnip and tastes...well, let's just say it's an acquired taste."
The door chime sounded and Kathryn frowned. "At this hour? Who could that be?" She rose, and said to Chakotay, "Tell them about Neelix's leola root pudding while I see what this is about."
The apartment assigned to her in the Visiting Officers Quarters wasn't large, but it did have a private entry foyer so that occupants were shielded from view if a visitor was forced to remain in the doorway. She checked the ID screen beside the door was flashing the name "Vokic, Danilo, CPO, SFMP." The Military Police?
"Open," she said, and realized that even without the ID screen, she would have recognized Chief Vokic as Security. He wore no overt insignia other than the generic yellow turtleneck, but there was something about his bearing, a combination of confidence and readiness, that she had seen in good officers such as Tuvok and Ayala. The fact that he was easily the size of Ayala, if not taller, added to the air of quiet intimidation. "What can I do for you, Chief?"
"Captain Janeway?" When she nodded, he handed her a PADD. "My orders are to deliver this to you personally."
As she read the orders, all the warmth and good will of the evening drained away. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked after a moment, when she realized that Vokic was not moving.
"Yes, ma'am. Do you by any chance know where I might find Commander Chakotay? There was no response at his quarters."
She looked at him appraisingly. "He's here, but why do I have the feeling that you already know that?" When he said nothing, she said, "Oh, all right, come in."
From the sudden silence and somber expressions on the face of her three guests as she led him back to the table, it was obvious that they, too, recognized Security. "Everyone, this is Chief Vokic from the Military Police. He's here to deliver orders. Chief, this is Professor Karder Jhan, Commander Daeja Thev, and of course, Commander Chakotay."
Vokic nodded in acknowledgement and then handed a second PADD to Chakotay. "My orders are to deliver this to you personally, sir."
Kathryn handed her PADD to Daeja. "Looks like it's begun. At least they let us get through our holidays."
Daeja's antennae arched forward, almost laying against her scalp. "Yes. And that's a good thing. This is one of the broadest sequestration orders I've ever seen, especially for a Board of Review." Then she looked up at Vokic. "Why are you still here, Chief?"
"Ma'am, I was instructed to emphasize that the order takes effect immediately upon receipt."
"In other words," Chakotay said as he stood, "I need to leave now." He stood beside Kathryn and clasped her hand. "Don't worry. It won't be for long."
"It just makes me angry," she said in a low voice. "It's so unfair to the crew. I can't believe they are doing this to the entire crew. What are they afraid of? That we'll go to the press?"
"That you'll talk to each other," Daeja explained. "They don't want your crew to have a chance to compare notes and make sure their stories match." Then her bright blue eyes turned to Chakotay. "Where are you planning on going from here?"
"Back to my quarters." He looked puzzled.
The Andorian shook her head. "Not a good idea. You're right across the hall from Kathryn. Even if you resist the temptation to sneak a visit, the chance that you'll inadvertently run into each other is too high. You both want to be above suspicion through this process."
"But--"
"She's right," Kathryn said. "What about your cousin in Ohio? He invited you to visit, didn't he?"
"Yes, but I can't show up on his doorstep at this hour. It's past midnight in Ohio. And I don't like it. I want to be nearby."
Daeja stood. "I understand how you feel, but that just isn't going to help anyone right now. You'll simply have to put up with being separated for a while."
Vokic cleared his throat.
"Put a sock in it, Chief," Daeja snapped as her antennae pointed flatly at him. "They're saying goodbye."
"My orders, ma'am--"
"Never mind," Chakotay said. He held Kathryn close for a moment, then kissed her. "I'll be thinking of you every day. Remember that."
She nodded, and said quietly, "Me, too." Then he turned and walked out without looking back.
"Sorry, Captain," Vokic said, sounding as if he might mean it, and then he followed Chakotay out the door.
Kathryn turned to her friend and saw her determined expression and flattened antennae. "We're in for a rough ride, aren't we, Dae?"
"I'm afraid so."
Vulcan North American Consulate, Scottsdale, Arizona.
The setting could not be better, Neelix thought. The table was set on a patio of the Vulcan North American consulate which the Consul, temporarily off-planet, had offered for this occasion. The desert sunset had been a carnival of color, and the patio was surrounded by tall cacti and pots of fragrant flowers. The linen was white and crisp, the lighting soft and the company--well, he and Sarexa were sharing dinner with the Vulcan representative to the Federation High Council and his wife as well as Tuvok and T'Pel. It was nearly perfect.
Nearly.
The problem was the food. He had thought the bertakk soup bland until he tried the bread-like kreila, which elevated blandness to a new level. It was like eating baked sawdust. If this was what Tuvok had meant when he claimed Vulcans preferred "subtle" spices, no wonder he had never enjoyed the meals on Voyager.
Ambassador Serel turned to him. "Are you enjoying the meal, Mr. Neelix?"
"It's very interesting," Neelix said slowly. He was keenly aware that this dinner was a great honor, and that Tuvok had gone out of his way to secure the invitation for him and Sarexa. Neelix had no intention of insulting his host or embarrassing his shipmate. "It's my first opportunity to sample real Vulcan cuisine, you know. I'm afraid I missed the mark in my attempts to recreate it for Commander Tuvok."
"This particular recipe comes from the eastern provinces, which are known for their skill in the use of subtle spices," Serel told him.
There's that word again, Neelix thought. "Subtle, indeed," he murmured.
"I must confess, though, that I prefer something with a bit more flavor." Serel pointed his fork at the baked fruit dish in a bowl beside his plate. "The yon-savas compote, for example. You'll find it an interesting contrast to the kreila."
Neelix took a bite of the red fruit dish, and as the strong, spicy flavor spread across his tongue he smiled. "Excellent!"
Tuvok, seated across the table from him, nodded. "It is similar to the chinga berry cobbler that was served on Voyager. You did not 'miss the mark' with that dish, Neelix."
Startled by the unusual praise, Neelix cleared his throat. "Yes, well, thank you. I'm reconsidering my plans to open a restaurant, though. I'm beginning to realize how different things are in the Alpha Quadrant."
Serel tilted his head. "A restaurant? I had assumed that the two of you would take up an ambassadorial role on behalf of your world."
"Ah. Well." Neelix shifted a bit in his seat. "I had considered it, but the truth is, I am, ah, without portfolio, as they say. The government of Talaxia has no idea that I'm here. At least, they don't know I'm here, now. They know I was on Voyager, heading here. They probably think we're still somewhere in the Delta Quadrant."
"On the other hand," Tuvok said, "you served as Voyager's 'goodwill ambassador' for the entire Delta Quadrant for eight years. I believe you and Sarexa could serve a similar role here and accomplish a great deal of good."
"We could?" Sarexa sounded surprised.
"Indeed," T'Pel said. Seated next to Tuvok, she wore a sheath and robe of gold satin with hand-embroidered borders symbolizing her familial house affiliation and a white and gold formal headdress. In Neelix's opinion, she made the Ambassador's wife, in her dirt brown robe and wimple, look dowdy. No wonder Tuvok cherishes her, Neelix thought.
Tuvok continued, "You are already well known to the media. Even if you do not take up a formal role, I fear you are already the embodiment of the Delta Quadrant for many people, and you will be treated as such, for good or ill."
Neelix frowned. "For ill?"
"Some of Voyager's more perilous encounters have been reported to the public," Serel explained. "There are many who see the Delta Quadrant as a dangerous place, filled with unknowns. And among the more volatile races in the Federation, the unknown is often feared, especially in the aftermath of the war with the Dominion. As a goodwill ambassador, you can help us all understand the true complexion of the Delta Quadrant."
"It will take more than some public appearances by Sarexa and me to accomplish that." Neelix shook his head. "It will take additional contact with the Delta Quadrant."
Serel inclined his head. "Granted. But we must begin somewhere."
He looked up then as one of his secretaries stepped out to the patio. "Your pardon, Ambassador, but this was just delivered for Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. I was asked to bring it to him immediately."
Serel nodded once, and the young man handed a PADD to Tuvok and left quietly. "I hope it is not bad news, Commander."
Neelix watched Tuvok's face carefully. His mouth turned down slightly, a bad sign. "These are orders from Starfleet command. The crew of Voyager is being sequestered pending a Board of Review for Captain Janeway."
"What does that mean?" Sarexa asked. She sounded fearful, and Neelix reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it. He hoped she couldn't sense the apprehension he felt.
Serel frowned. "The entire crew? That is an extreme measure."
"I had the same thought," Tuvok said. "I'm afraid I must leave. Neelix and Sarexa are on the list of potential witnesses with whom I must have no contact."
Before Neelix could respond, Serel said coldly, "That is insupportable. Starfleet has no jurisdiction over civilian personnel."
"We don't mind testifying for Captain Janeway," Neelix said. "She told us this might happen."
"These orders are about more than your testimony," Tuvok explained. "They prohibit you from having contact with any members of Voyager's crew until we are released from the orders. And I suspect that both of you will receive copies of this upon your return to your apartment tonight."
"In essence," Serel said, "they are isolating you from the only people you know in this Quadrant and rendering you dependent upon Starfleet for your very existence. That is intolerable. It violates all established diplomatic protocols and is another example of the way the Admiralty is abusing its authority." Shaking his head in apparent disapproval, he went on, "For two centuries, Starfleet managed to keep the delicate balance between its two primary missions, to explore space and to protect the Federation. They seem to have forgotten how to keep that balance."
"Husband." His wife T'Via spoke quietly. "This is not the floor of the Council Chamber. There is no need for a political discourse."
"But there is," Tuvok said. "Remember, Neelix and Sarexa have no knowledge at all of Federation protocols, and I have been gone for eight years. If you have insights into this order, I would like to hear them."
"Into the order specifically, no. But," Serel said, "into the way Starfleet is attempting to expand its jurisdiction, yes." He turned to Neelix. "During the recent wars, first with the Klingons and then with the Dominion and Cardassians, Starfleet was granted a great deal of authority. The balance of power between the military and the civilian aspects of government shifted. The war is over, but there are some--too many--who are unwilling to allow that balance to return to its prior state."
"My husband and Ambassador Brelz of Tellar are the most vocal critics of Starfleet Command," T'Via added.
"But what can we do?" Neelix asked. "We were part of Voyager's crew. Doesn't that put us under Starfleet's orders?"
Serel turned to him, his eyes suddenly alight. "If you would reconsider your decision to reject formal ambassadorial status, I believe we can assert diplomatic immunity. You could voluntarily testify for your Captain but legally, Starfleet could not compel you to do anything against your will, including cutting you off from your shipmates."
"Ah, but Tuvok and the other crewmen could be ordered to avoid Neelix and Sarexa," T'Pel pointed out.
"True. But public pressure can be exerted to prevent that. The media has already demonstrated a certain fondness for the two of you. That can be used to your advantage."
Neelix looked at Tuvok. "What do you think we should do?"
"I cannot make that decision for you. I cannot even advise you on the current political situation. You are best served by seeking advice from those who are knowledgeable and whom you trust."
"I trust you, Tuvok," Neelix said quietly. "What do you think?"
Tuvok's eyes flicked to Sarexa and then back to Neelix. "Whatever you decide, I think you should keep in mind that as the situation stands, these orders require the two of you to be separated. I do not know if this can be enforced, but we should expect an attempt to do so."
"What?" Sarexa asked faintly.
That was her greatest fear, Neelix knew--that she would be alone on a strange planet, in a strange part of the galaxy. He had promised her it wouldn't happen, and he understood the silent suggestion in Tuvok's words. "Don't worry, sweeting," he said to her quietly. "I'll take care of it."
Since their little indiscretion on Deep Space Nine, Neelix had been trying to give Sarexa the time she needed to decide on what kind of a relationship she wanted. Now, though, it looked like they were out of time. This wasn't what he had planned, or how he had planned it, but if he was anything, he was adaptable. That was how he had survived the Haarkonians, the Kazon and eight years on Voyager. "Ambassador Serel. Do you have the authority to marry us?"
He paused as Sarexa gasped and looked at him in surprise. Happy surprise, he hoped, but he couldn't stop to ask. Holding her hand tightly, he asked Serel, "And how do I become an official Ambassador?"
Spacedock
"Lieutenant Paris! Lieutenant Torres! Wait, please!"
As the sharp, officious voice echoed through the boarding ring of Spacedock, Tom and B'Elanna stopped walking and shared a look of exasperation. "Now what?" she whispered to him. "He did everything but take a kidney already."
Shifting the backpack holding his sleeping daughter, Tom said, "Don't worry. It's probably just more red tape. Dad told us that travel to Qo'noS would be difficult, even if we are allies again."
The thin ensign with the irritating voice who had checked them in ran up to them, panting. "These just arrived for you. They're marked priority."
He handed each of them a PADD, and they read the message silently. B'Elanna spoke first. "But we've already been approved for a trip to Qo'noS."
"Not anymore." The nameless ensign seemed to have recovered from his exertion and was operating at complete officiousness again. "The travel authorization has been revoked. You can't board the Wolfe. You have to return to Earth."
"You don't understand." B'Elanna spoke in slow, measured tones. "We have to go to Qo'noS. I have to see my mother's grave. My daughter has to be accepted by our house. We have clearance. We are going to Qo'noS."
"Not today. Tough luck." He smiled at her, a smile so patently false that it was offensive.
Enough, Tom decided. He had tolerated the young man's exaggerated perusal of his Outmate papers, confirming that he had well and truly satisfied the conditions of his conviction and was discharged from the New Zealand penal colony. He had tolerated the sneer, the false look of surprise, the moue of disdain. He had ignored the copy of the Risian Ribald on the back counter. He was big enough to absorb that kind of insolence. But no one, no one, insulted his wife.
"Excuse me," Tom said politely. "Would you mind checking something for me?"
"What?" The young ensign looked confused by the seeming change in subject.
"What is my wife's rank?"
"Lieutenant." Frowning, the young man looked from B'Elanna to Tom.
"Good. For a minute there I thought something had changed when I wasn't looking. And tell me again, what is my rank?"
"Lieutenant, junior grade." Understanding began to dawn in his eyes, and he wasn't happy about it.
"Then we're all in agreement here, aren't we, Ensign? You are addressing two superior officers." Tom smiled benignly.
Angry eyes met his. The younger man said nothing, but his mouth formed the words, "Yeah, right."
Having Miral in a backpack placed him at a disadvantage; still, Tom glared at the man. "What was that, Mister?"
The ensign continued to stare at him, obviously trying to weigh his risk. Finally, he turned to B'Elanna and said, "No disrespect intended, ma'am. I was simply trying to convey the change in orders."
"Very good," Tom said approvingly. "Please see that our luggage is returned to the checkpoint." He turned to B'Elanna. "I'm sure we can straighten this out. It's a delay, not a cancellation."
She drew a long breath through her nose, and Tom knew she was mentally counting to ten. Or maybe fifty. Finally she said, "Of course. Let's go."
They turned and headed back for the main concourse, leaving the red-faced ensign behind them. B'Elanna said in a low voice, "Nice death glare."
"Learned from the master." Tom flashed a quick grin, then sobered. "Where do you want to go? My parents or your cousin?"
"Your parents, at least for tonight. Perhaps your father knows what's going on."
Tom shook his head. "Don't count on it. If Dad were in the loop, he would have warned us before we left."
"This is a bad sign for the captain, isn't it?"
"Not necessarily," he said, although he was thinking the same thing. "We knew it was coming. A board of review is routine."
"Is it routine to sequester the entire ship's crew?" B'Elanna shook her head. "I've got a bad feeling about this." Then she sighed. "Everything seemed to be going so well, too. It's silly, but when it only took a few days to clear up your status with the Outmate Board, I thought that was an omen that everything would work out."
He thought about everything left to work out--Janeway's review, the Equinox survivors, the Doc's status, and most of all, the fate of the Maquis. "Maybe it will," he said slowly, "but that's an awful lot to hope for. Come on, let's find a comm booth and call your uncle."
Jupiter Station
"You can open your eyes now," Haley said.
Seated at the small table in the kitchen of the Zimmerman quarters on Jupiter Station, the EMH did as he was told--and did a double take. Haley, the pretty young hologram who served as Zimmerman's secretary and personal assistant, was holding a round, two-layer cake rimmed with burning candles. "What's this?"
"Happy Birthday!" Reg Barclay said enthusiastically.
"Birthday?" The EMH looked confused. "But I don't have a birthday."
"You do now," Lewis Zimmerman said tersely. "Reg insisted we give Haley a birthday last year, so you get one, too."
Haley set the cake down on the table in front of him. "You're supposed to make a wish and blow out the candles."
"I know." He looked around, confused. "I don't understand. Why today? There's nothing special about today."
"It was ten years ago today that we completed the first test matrix for the Emergency Medical Hologram," Reg explained. "In a sense, that was the day you were born. Everything after that was just...refinement."
"Oh." The EMH looked at the cake. "It's a nice tradition, but shouldn't the guest of honor be able to actually eat the cake?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake. Blow out the damn candles before the fire suppression system goes off." Zimmerman scowled at him.
Keeping an eye on his creator, the EMH went through the motions of blowing at the candles. When nothing happened, he motioned to Reg, who extinguished them with a single breath. Haley smiled warmly. "Well done. You'll get your wish."
"I hope so." At that moment, his only wish was for Zimmerman to get out of his funk and behave like an adult again. The man had been grumpy all day, even for him. He seemed to have awakened irritated and spent the morning snapping at everyone who tried to talk with him. By mid-afternoon it was so bad that the holographic iguana Leonard had intoned, "Jerk," and shambled out of the lab to curl up in the peace and quiet of the laundry hamper. Haley claimed not to have noticed, but she often used denial as a form of protection from Zimmerman's bad moods. Reg had arrived only moments before dinner, and his tardiness seemed to be just one more thing that irked the scientist. The EMH wanted to tell him to snap out of it, but if he did, an argument was sure to follow.
And with Haley sitting next to him, smiling so sweetly, he couldn't bring himself to do it. "Thank you for the cake," he told her.
"You're welcome." She handed him a knife and cake server. "You're supposed to serve it now."
"I can't eat it, but I'm supposed to serve it?" He couldn't stop the sarcasm that dripped in his voice. "How droll."
"It's traditional," Reg said. He looked pointedly across the table to Zimmerman. "And so are birthday presents."
"Uh. Oh. Yes." The older man rose and walked over to a cabinet. He pulled out two identical boxes, wrapped in red foil paper with a white bow, and then returned to the table and set one box in front of Haley and the other in front of the EMH. "Happy Birthday."
Haley frowned. "But it's not my birthday, Lewis."
"So, Birthday Boy opens his first." Zimmerman sat and folded his arms. "Well?"
The EMH laid the knife on the table and picked up the box. He was actually quite touched. Other than Prixin, he'd never received a formal gift like this before. With great care, he removed the bow so that the ribbon didn't break and took the paper off with surgical precision. Sliding the lid off the box inside, he stared down. "How nice," he said at last. "It's a PADD."
Zimmerman frowned at him, but Reg leaned forward, his face showing that he clearly knew something about the gift that the EMH didn't. "Read it."
He picked it up and thumbed it on. "It appears to be a court order," he said, scanning the text. "In the Matter of Mark Lewis Zimmerman." He looked up. "Who is that?"
"Keep reading," Reg urged. "Don't worry about the first stuff. Skip down to where it says "Order" in capital letters."
Puzzled, he scrolled down began to read aloud. "Based on good cause shown, the court declares that the hologram formerly known as the USS Voyager Emergency Medical Hologram Mark-1 is a sentient life form, entitled to all the rights appurtenant thereto..." His voice trailed off and he finished reading in silence. Then he looked up, stunned. "I--The Federation recognizes that I'm sentient? This is real?"
"Of course it's real," Zimmerman said. "You don't think I'd give it to you if it weren't, do you? As of yesterday, you are Mark Lewis Zimmerman, a citizen of Earth and the Federation. I'd hoped they would get it done in time for that Prixin holiday of yours, but the judge went fishing or something." He nodded to Haley. "Open yours."
She just stared at him. "Me, too? Oh, Lewis."
"Well, I couldn't very well do just one of you, could I?"
"Mark Lewis Zimmerman," the EMH repeated. "Doctor Mark Lewis Zimmerman."
"Since you hadn't come up with a name on your own, I had to choose something for you." Zimmerman's voice was gruff, but his eyes were wary, almost afraid. "If you don't like it, you can always change it."
"All right," Dr. Mark Lewis Zimmerman said slowly. "I might do that. In twenty or thirty years." He waited until he was sure the older man realized he was kidding, then said quietly. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."
Embarrassed, Lewis waved one hand in the air. "It needed to be done. The science of holography has outstripped the existing laws. Someone had to get them to see that."
Since Lewis clearly did not want an emotional display, Mark Lewis Zimmerman turned to his right. "And your name is...?"
"Haley Lewisa Zimmerman," she said proudly. "Does this mean you're my brother?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake," Lewis muttered. "Don't turn this into a melodrama."
"Ummm," Reg said, then cleared his throat noisily. "Speaking of drama, I've got, well, I've got some news." He reached into a carryall on the floor next to him and handed another PADD to Mark Lewis. "I was asked to bring these orders to you. You're on the list of potential witnesses for Captain Janeway's Board of Review."
"Really?" Eyebrows raised, he accepted the PADD in surprise. "I didn't think Starfleet thought me competent to testify."
"They've identified everyone who was on Voyager," Barclay explained. "You're not permitted to contact any of them. And you're going to have to stay here until they either recall you to Headquarters or tell you they don't need you."
"Stay here?" Lewis repeated. "Indefinitely?"
"That's outrageous," Mark Lewis said indignantly. "It's unfair to the entire crew and a complete insult to Captain Janeway." He paused, then asked, "But I can call my publisher, can't I?"
"Indefinitely?" Lewis asked again, faintly.
Richardson home, Seattle
Harry didn't bother to fold his clothes as he stuffed them into his carryall. "This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of," he told Marla. "I just got here. I'm hardly unpacked. And all because of a stupid PADD."
They were in the guest bedroom of her sister's home, where Marla had been staying. Harry had arrived that afternoon to visit for a few days. "I know," Marla said.
He stopped, shirt in hand. "There's a way around this, you know. We could get married."
"What?"
"We could get married. Now. Tonight." He grinned, obviously taken with the idea. "Then I wouldn't have to leave."
She bit her lip, and then touched his face gently. "That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"So?"
"We can't, Harry. You know that."
"Why not?"
"We don't have permission, for one thing."
Harry rolled his eyes. "We don't need anyone's permission, Marla."
"Well, it's bad form to not bother to get your CO's approval, and we can’t contact Captain Janeway now. And for another thing, we don't have a license."
"We could be in Las Vegas in an hour."
"We've already received the orders." She sighed. "It would just get you into trouble. You don't want to risk that second pip."
By now, he knew her well enough to know that he wasn't going to get her to change her mind. He shoved the shirt into the bag. "All right. But we're going to talk about this later, Marla."
"I know." She hugged him tightly. "I love you, Harry."
"I love you, too." He kissed her, but when she tried to pull back he held her and deepened it. She melted into him, responding to him with growing passion. Then he tasted something warm and salty and lifted his head in surprise. "Are you crying?"
She shook her head, despite the fact the tears were still spilling out of her eyes. He studied her for a moment, then snatched up the half-open carryall. "I'd better go now, or I won't be able to go at all."
Marla nodded wordlessly.
"When this is over, we're getting married," he told her firmly. "No arguments."
She sniffed and shook her head. "I won't argue."
His eyes lit with surprise and pleasure. "Really?" She opened her mouth to respond, but he kissed her quickly. "No, don't say anything else. I don't want you to change your mind." He kissed her yet again, then turned and fled from the room.
Marla sat down heavily on the bed and let the tears fall unabated. She picked up the PADD that had been delivered to her. Unlike Harry's, it contained a second message.
**ORDERS**ORDERS**ORDERS**
DATE: January 11, 2379
TO: Gilmore, M.; Lessing, N; Morrow, J;
Sofin, B; Tessoni, A
FROM: Hayes, J. Adm./CinC/SFC
BY ORDER OF STARFLEET COMMAND:
You are hereby ORDERED to appear in the office of Captain J. B. Goldstein, Assistant Judge Advocate General--Terra Sector, Room 22-A, Perry Building, Starfleet Headquarters on Monday, January 14, 2380 at 0900 hours.
/s/
Adm. Jack Hayes
Commander in Chief,
Starfleet Command