Homecoming - Christie Golden [81]
He swore. He’d left his umbrella in the ceramic, dragon-shaped stand by the door. Stupid San Francisco [241] weather. Sighing, Li turned up his collar against the cold splash of the raindrops and half-ran back to the restaurant.
He had just opened the door and was reaching for the umbrella when the Green Dragon exploded.
When Janeway entered the prison’s sickbay, she was prepared for anything, except what she got.
She and her entire crew had been treated with suspicion and thinly veiled hostility. Only the command crew had been informed as to why they were arrested and brought in, and they had been ordered to secrecy. She was pleased that Montgomery seemed a bit embarrassed, but not mollified in the slightest. In fact, she was outraged. If any crew in Starfleet had reason to hate the Borg and to want to keep them away from Earth, it was Voyager’s. They were being treated like common criminals, summarily hauled in and grilled. It was the opposite of what should have been done. There were three people in prison who knew the Borg better than anyone, and one of those had more medical knowledge than any other ten doctors combined.
There were too many things she didn’t know, either, and that angered her as well. She knew that somehow, Kevin Johnson had been turned into a partial Borg, and that he and his family had disappeared. Where, she didn’t know. Allegedly they and Molly were under quarantine, but she wasn’t sure if she believed that.
She didn’t know if Kevin was the only one, or if Borg were spontaneously popping out of every gopher hole from San Francisco to China. She didn’t know [242] why Seven and Icheb were suspected or if they would ever be released.
So when she walked into sickbay, it was with her head held high, her eyes narrowed in defiance, and a chip on her shoulder the size of a small shuttlecraft.
The doctor had his back to her when she and her “escort” entered. “I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he said, holding up his left index finger and finishing entering data with his other hand. He turned around and his eyes lit up as he recognized her.
“Admiral Janeway! I’ve so wanted to meet you.” The light in his bright eyes faded somewhat. “Although not under these circumstances. Thank you, Lieutenant, that will do.”
The burly guard left, and the admiral and the doctor stood regarding one another. Janeway had to admit he was strikingly handsome, with his thick, curly dark hair and intense blue eyes. A strong, masculine face with a sensitive mouth was framed by small dots disappearing into his collar. A Trill, then. He extended a hand and indicated the biobed.
“Please, Admiral. I don’t like this any better than you do. I’m sure I won’t find anything to report, so let’s get this over with quickly.”
“Oh, why the rush?” said Janeway acidly. “I’m in no real hurry to get back to my cell.”
“If I don’t find anything, Admiral,” said the doctor, “then you’ll be released.”
Janeway raised an eyebrow, trying not to hope too hard. “In that case. ...” She hopped up onto the biobed.
“Thank you.” He picked up a medical tricorder. “My [243] name is Jarem Kaz. I’m very sorry for what you and your crew has had to go through, but it really was necessary.”
“Was it?” she challenged him. He didn’t meet her eyes. “The command staff was informed that the Borg are somehow involved,” she continued, watching him closely for his reaction. “I don’t suppose you’d care to fill me in on any further details about what’s been going on.”
Kaz smiled, ruefully, Janeway thought. “I wish I could, believe me. What’s happening here is frightening on a variety of levels.”
“You speak pretty freely for a top-level security clearance doctor,” Janeway said.
Again, Kaz smiled, his eyes on the instrument. “One of my former hosts was the equivalent of a Poet Laureate on Trill, and the one after that was a Maquis. It’s a combination that leads to lots