The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [14]
“Here we are, my friend,” said Baines, his voice kind. He touched a few things on his apparatus and the figure beside him began to change in front of Andropov’s eyes. It grew slightly taller and broader across the chest. Its black jumpsuit changed color, turning to gray, black, and yellow, with exactly the right number of pips in its color. Hair undulated across its naked skull, hair that was black shot through with a streak of gray. Eyes began to take shape, dark brown and large, over a hawk nose and thin lips.
“Oh my God,” breathed Andropov, staring into a face he knew from forty-two years of looking into a mirror. His doppelgänger smiled at him.
“Vassily, meet Vassily,” said Baines. He chuckled again.
Now Andropov knew what Baines’s plan was. “It won’t work. He may look like me, but he doesn’t know what I know.”
“Oh really? I think I might,” said Andropov’s double in flawless Russian.
[40] “They will find out, eventually,” Andropov insisted, though with less certainty than before.
“Perhaps,” said Baines. “But not before he’s done what he needs to.”
Andropov swallowed hard. “Listen, Mr. Baines. We know the eight deaths were accidental. But if you deliberately murder a Starfleet officer—”
“Who said anything about murdering you?” Baines seemed genuinely upset. “I’m not a monster, Lieutenant.”
“Then ... what are you going to do with me? Just leave me here, trapped in a chair by this force field?”
“Of course not. I have a little trip planned for you.” Baines smiled. “Call it a cultural exchange, if you will.”
And then Baines, the double, and the room began to shimmer as Andropov dematerialized.
Chapter 4
SEVEN OF NINE screamed as the implacable Borg seized her and forced her down on their monstrous parody of a biobed. Janeway stood and watched, frozen, unable to move, unable to even look away. The Borg moved about their business, and merciful tears blurred the image of Seven’s arm being severed. The Borg performing the operation looked up, and Janeway stared into the dead eyes of Admiral Kenneth Montgomery.
Resistance is futile.
Janeway bolted upright, covered with sweat, safe in her own bed. Her heart was racing. The sound came again, as if an echo of her nightmare, but it was real and all too familiar—the sound of her computer alerting her that someone was trying to reach her.
Still slightly disoriented from the vivid nature of the [42] dream, Janeway grabbed a robe, ran a hand over her hair, and sat down at the computer.
“Dr. Kaz,” she said, surprised.
“Good morning, Admiral. I’m sorry to have awakened you. I thought you’d already be up.”
She glanced at the chronometer and grimaced when she saw it was well past nine in the morning. “By all standards I ought to be, but I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep recently.”
It was a true remark and she had thought an innocent one, but something flickered over Kaz’s features. “I understand,” he said, his voice a bit harsher than it was before. “I know a couple of people who haven’t been getting enough sleep myself.”
The silence lay heavily between them as they looked into one another’s eyes.
“I see,” said Janeway, waiting for him to make the next move.
“I think proper sleep is vital to healthy functioning,” Kaz continued. Janeway knew they weren’t talking about her. “In fact, I feel so strongly about it that I’d like to discuss some strategies for treating insomnia with you.”
Kaz had assured her that his sickbay was not monitored, but apparently he wasn’t as certain about his computer. “I’d appreciate that,” she said heartily. “I bet you’re going to tell me I need to cut back on my coffee.”
He laughed, caught by surprise at her quip. “Well, it would be a start,” he said.
“Not a chance. I’ve got seven years of drinking replicated stuff to make up for.”
[43] “Well, why don’t we meet for a cup and discuss ... other options for getting a good night’s sleep?”
“Sounds good to me. I know a little café in Santa Barbara.” She gave him the coordinates.
“Shall I meet you in an hour?”
“I think I can be presentable by then.” She sobered