The Farther Shore - Christie Golden [21]
Her computer chimed softly. She groaned. “Who is it this time?” she asked rhetorically, rising and going over to the computer. Harry Kim’s face appeared on the screen.
“Got another one,” he said.
She knew at once what he meant. “Put it through.”
For the second time in as many days, Janeway found herself looking at old-fashioned white lettering on a dark screen. Odd, how the highest level of computer sophistication manifested itself in such a comparatively unsophisticated fashion.
* * *
[61]Hello again, Lieutenant Kim. I have some more information for you. Starfleet has known about a potential Borg virus for over five years. Voyager is not in any way responsible for it and I will be able to help you prove it shortly. The key to this puzzle lies in what Starfleet has been researching—the Borg computer protocol. Starfleet has been examining Borg debris, and this debris is what carried the virus. I will have more for you soon. Your friend, Peregrine.
“My God,” breathed Janeway. “I wish there were some way to verify that this person is genuine.”
Chakotay, who had come to stand beside her and who had also read the missive, said, “I think he or she is genuine. You can’t send that kind of heavily blocked message without having a certain level of clearance. The real question is, are we being fed disinformation?”
“You think someone is trying to set us up? Make us act precipitously?”
“Entirely possible,” said Chakotay.
Janeway turned back to the message and read it again. “But it all sounds so credible. It’s exactly what we would do—analyze the debris, try to figure out how their computer systems worked. And from what we know of the Borg, I wouldn’t put this virus idea past them.”
She touched a control pad and Kim’s face again appeared on the screen. “Thanks, Harry. Any time you get a message, day or night, I want to hear about it.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
“Harry, does the name Peregrine mean anything to [62] you? It’s not a typical type of code name for Intelligence agents.”
Harry shook his head. “I know it’s a type of hawk, but no, it has no special meaning.”
“You’ve done good work tonight, Lieutenant. Get some sleep.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Goodnight, Admiral.”
Chakotay took her half-empty cup. “Let me get you a warm-up,” he said, heading into the small kitchen. Janeway had turned to follow him when her computer chimed yet again.
“Good heavens, Starfleet Command isn’t this busy,” she grumbled, and touched the pad.
She froze. She recognized the face on the screen. She’d seen it last in Kaz’s sickbay, on a small screen, admitting to the deaths of eight innocent people. She’d seen it on a large scale, telling people in a South Carolina restaurant that a strike was in progress.
“Oliver Baines,” she said, keeping her voice cool and professional. “What a surprise.”
He smiled. “But not a pleasant one, I gather. Ah well. But I think you’ll be glad that I contacted you once you hear what I have to say.”
Her voice was steely. “Go on.” Subtly, so he wouldn’t notice, she pressed a keypad and started a trace.
“You and I have something in common.” At her skeptical expression, he added, “We both care about the fate of the Doctor. He’s ... he’s a hero to me. I’ve read your logs and I know that you have come to respect him as a person, with the same rights as organic beings. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Federation is [63] planning on deprogramming him and all the other EMH Mark Ones they can get their hands on.”
“I’m aware of that, yes.”
He looked at her closely. “Do you really understand what that means?”
“I do. The Doctor will have only a limited set of basic subroutines. He’ll be little more than an automaton.”
“His love of opera, his writing skills, his affection for the crew he served so well for seven years—all gone. He’ll be a mindless, lumbering—”
“If you’ve got a point, get to it.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a light flash on her computer. The trace had failed. Whatever blocking system he had, it was a damn good one.
“I will. Sorry about the trace.” He smiled. “You know that I can’t stand