Miracle Man

Beautiful…that’s what she was. They were on a planet covered with lush forestry and small mountains, just perfect for camping, hiking and rock climbing. And, if you were so inclined, there were two oceans, each of which boasted a golden dune beach. It was a perfect resort for weary, off-duty Starfleet officers not content to just lie around all day. Kathryn gazed at her blonde, blue-eyed companion and smiled. After what seemed like an eternity of space exploration and inter-stellar war, this was paradise. She leaned over to the lovely blonde and whispered something in her ear. A squeal and a flurry of giggles later, both tumbled to the ground, holding each other and sharing a passionate kiss. Strong, slender fingers raked through russet hair while smaller but just as strong hands slid around a slender waist.

Brooot. The time is now 2315 hours…

"To whom were you referring?"

When Janeway finally opened her eyes, the blurred image before her swirled into that of a stern-looking Seven of Nine in bed beside her. She blinked, getting her bearings. Was she talking in her sleep? And if so, what had she said? Raising herself, she kissed Seven gently on the mouth. "It was just a dream, love. I was just thinking…what if the next time we’re on shore leave, we could find a planet somewhere and have a vacation, just the two of us."

Seven peered down at the older woman and frowned. "You did not answer the question. While you were asleep, you spoke a name, an unusual one. Since it is not a designation by which you call me, it must be someone else."

Janeway stared at her. What the heck is she talking about? The last few hours had been wild, to say the least. "Well…" she began. "As I said before, it was a dream. If I did indeed call out a name, then it was that of the past…the distant past."

Seven wouldn’t quit, though. "In that case, you would have no problem informing me whom it was you were…‘calling out’. And believe me…" She shifted suddenly and straddled Janeway’s hips, the full weight of Borg implants and flesh pressing down. "I have my ways…"

Janeway’s torso tightened from the pressure. Ooof. She’s heavy. She’s reaaaallly heavy. Think, Katie. She’s obviously insecure and needs assurance. So now what? She squirmed, but like all other resistance, it was futile.

"Tell me, Kathryn. Who…is…Petrouchka?"

Oh…shit.

à à Ã

Broot. The time is now 2320 hours…

By the time Harry hit the bridge at 2300 hours, he had a little tune stuck in his head. He pored over the padds containing the latest sensor readings from The Gap, and the tiny trills were starting to sound like something Johnny Marr would come up with.

"Punctured bicycle, on the hillside desolate…" I hope nobody hears me. The last thing I need right now is the Gamma crew thinking I’m nuts, now. Oh, the hell with this. He quit singing.

His brows leapt north when he heard someone mumbling something. He turned his head to the right.

"I’m sorry, what did you say, Le Beau?"

The quiet young ensign looked up from the Engineering station. "Oh. I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t help but overhear. The Smiths, right?"

"Yeah. I don’t know which song, though."

"This Charming Man."

Harry snapped his fingers. "That’s it! You know about the Smiths?"

"Yeah. I studied them in Music Theory 347."

"Oh yeah, that’s right. Who was your teacher, again?"

"Strasser."

"Yikes! I heard he was brutal."

"That’s what he wants everyone to believe. He’s really a softie."

"Oh yeah? Remember how Brondek used to-"

Broot. Sickbay to the Bridge.

Oh, now what? Harry threw a pained look at Le Beau, who rolled her eyes and mouthed the words, and the drama continues…Choking back giggles, Harry croaked, "This is Ensign Kim. What can I do for you, Doctor?"

I need to see you in the Ready Room right away.

The rest of the crew perked up at that and started murmuring. Were they going to get a juicy morsel of gossip with only twenty minutes into the shift, or what? After shushing everyone, Harry answered, "Come on up. Kim out."

à à Ã

God DAMMIT!!! You call this THERAPY?!?

The image on the small screen was a portrait of pure rage, which permeated the sterile serenity of Sickbay. Sitting in front of it with his hands steepled and his demeanor calm, the Emergency Medical Hologram pondered this new dilemma.

When B’Elanna Torres had arrived at Sickbay earlier with a stack of padds and a request for the restoration of certain memories with, ah, carnal overtones, the Doctor had decided to implement some damage control before yet another time bomb could detonate on the U.S.S. Voyager. As soon as her back was turned, he had pumped enough cordrazine to drop a Sivaoan slashback into Torres’ carotid artery. Before she’d hit the ground, she then rematerialized inside Holodeck Two. The doors were sealed two seconds later.

Five minutes later, all hell broke loose.

I’m warning YOU, Doctor! If you don’t get me the FUCK outta here like, right now, I’m gonna start ripping out machinery! Then I’m gonna fucking rip YOU to shreds! Do you HEAR me?!?

"Lieutenant Torres," said the Doctor patiently. "Please calm down. You are making it worse than it already is. Remember, I am quite capable of subduing you from my present location."

EEEEE-YAGH! With a loud PUNT! a fist filled then screen, along with distorted pixels in its wake.

He sighed. "Have it your way." He keyed in some controls as he rose from his desk. "At least try the program. I’ll be back in a little while."

Hey. Where the FUCK are you going?

"I shall inform you as soon as I return. Oh. And by the way, no communications with anyone except myself."

"Sickbay out." The image of a bewildered half-Klingon vanished from the screen. Just as he was heading out the door...

Broot. Hey, Doc!

Wonderful. Now he had to deal with him... "Yes, Mr. Paris?"

I was just wondering. You didn’t happen to yank me outta Holodeck Two and dump me into my quarters a while ago, didn’t you?

"I am sorry, Mr. Paris, but I had a medical emergency."

What kind of emergency?

"I will discuss this with you later, Mr. Paris."

Hey! What do you mean you’ll-

"Sickbay out." The Doctor rolled his eyes as he wondered whether there was any chance he could have a vacation sometime soon. He really would like to learn more about this golf thing. But right now, he had to go to the bridge. He made a final adjustment to his mobile emitter before making his exit.

He knows so much about these things…

à à Ã

"Petrouchka is the name of one of my favorite ballets, written by Igor Stravinsky. It tells the story of a lonely puppet in a traveling circus who dances, falls in love and dies." Good answer, good answer. Now will she get off? Janeway shifted uncomfortably, still pinned to the bed by a naked Borg.

Seven wasn’t hearing it. "I am not interested in hearing about an ancient musical composition. The ‘Petrouchka’ referred to is a person. Who is it?"

Dammit. "I’ll tell you what. Get off of me and I will tell you... urk! Now would be a good time…"

"Very well."

Ooooof. Janeway was finally able to breathe.

"Now. Where were we?"

Damned Borg peersistence...

à à Ã

Shapes and colors surrounded her endlessly until they pin-cushioned into a solid setting. Beneath her feet was packed earth. Random tufts of grass squatted scattered across the rough terrain. Jagged walls of rock scurried every which way but nowhere.

And as if it couldn’t get anymore cheesy, there were critters in the trees.

"Oh, what the fuck is this?" B’Elanna asked.

Brooo-booop. Please rephrase the question.

Grrrr. "Computer."

Bop-booooop.

"Unseal the Holodeck doors, authorization code Torres: Kapppa-4-Eta."

Broo-boooop. Unable to comply. Authorization code has been disabled-

"FUCK!!! Disable this, motherfucker!!!" B’Elanna charged straight-ahead hoping to collide with a wall she could rend with her bare hands.

A pterodactyl swooped her up instead. "Eeeee-YULP!" Talons dug into her thick shoulders. Her hands flew upwards and tore at a wriggling, leathery neck. They were high up in the air by the time B’Elanna had manually decapitated the reptile.

"Take THAT, fuckhead! Computer, what the FUCK is this?!?"

Ahem. Besides gravity?

The ground was now coming up just a little too fast. "EEEEE-YAAAAAAHHHH-" WHUMP! The hard-packed ground went rubbery the moment she hit it and bounced a few time before sprawling face down. And the absolutely last thing she needed to hear right now was-

Broo-boooop. Please rephrase the question.

Dazed, prone, riding a cordrazine high, and still pissed off, B’Elanna started ticking off options. Taking this shit up with the Captain was first on her list…

à à Ã

He wished the damn chair would swallow him up. Never in all of his young life did he feel as reproachable as he did now. This nerve-wracking information the Doctor was giving him regarding Lieutenant Torres’ latest crisis in the Ready Room was just too much. For a brief moment, Harry Kim Knew exactly what it felt like to be a coffeed-up, trigger-happy starship commander. Jeez, no wonder the Cap seems to have a death wish lately… "All right, Doctor. Obviously we have a little…ah…situation here."

Standing ramrod straight before the command console, The Doctor put on his sternest face. "Isn’t that what I just said, Ensign?" he snapped. "Lieutenant Torres’ behavior is simply unacceptable, a behavior, which as I understand, was a direct result of your giving her those Holodeck files from the Hirogen occupation. Unfortunately, because of the delicate nature of this situation, the Captain must NOT be informed of this, ever. The matter will have to be handled by Commander Chakotay."

Oh, WHATever… "Great." Harry groaned as he sank deeper in the chair. "Drag him into it. You know, you can’t keep B’Elanna locked up in the Holodeck forever. And even if she does want those memories, what then? You’re not going to fiddle with her head, are you?"

"I may have to."

"You can’t be serious."

The Doctor slammed both hands on the desk. "Maybe I did not make myself clear. Lieutenant Torres has knowledge of those files, contents of which, may I remind you, involve her engaging in sexual intercourse with the Captain!"

Harry winced. "Jeez, Doc. So they got horizontal. So what?"

"So what?!?" The Doctor echoed. "Our Chief Engineer is fantasizing about this sort of thing, and all you can say is ‘So What’?!? And you knew about it the whole time!"

Bitch. "The Captain told me to do with the files what I would. I don’t know why, but maybe they could have been used for strategic training, or something. She certainly didn’t tell me to destroy them."

"I would have."

Drama. Drama. Drama… "Maybe other people wanted to see them, did you think of that?"

"I can not have this crew running around replaying twisted memories in their heads. Imagine the chaos. The turmoil!"

Harry threw up his hands and half-swung from the desk. "All right. All RIGHT! You’ve made your point."

"Fine. Then I’ll go ahead and begin the memory extract-"

"Not so fast. What you’re proposing is extreme. Regulations clearly state that you cannot perform a memory-extraction without the consent of the intended patient. And I know damn well B’Elanna’s not gonna go for it."

The Doctor snorted. "Of course you’re going to take her side. You contributed to this…"

BITCH! "Yeah, I did. I take responsibility for that. Granted, Commander Chakotay ordered me to display those files…"

"Now, hold on here! The commander knows about those files as well?"

"Yeah. He’s seen them, too. I suggest you have a chat with him before making any hasty decisions."

"I can’t believe this!"

"I can’t believe you. Now, I understand you’re holding a patient against her will…"

à à Ã

Speaking of whom…

Ooooohhhh, cordrazine kick. Happy, happy, happy. Grinning crazily and slumped against the arch she’d just called up, B’Elanna took a real good look at the program currently running. Scratching the nape of her neck, which really itched, she squinted at the holographic text: "Eh….vo…LOO-shun-aireee Po…..ten….shal…Speculation. Ee Pee Ess. EPS. Eppy, eppy, eppy…Hmmmm. Mumble-mumble…genetic parameters….goooble-gibbble. Meh-chanics…of…Myoooo….myooo…Jesus! By Charles Francis…Ex…Ex…Huh? Heyyyyy, Doc! WHAT were ya smokin’ when ya wroot this?"

"Oh, shut UP!"

Brooo bop broo.

"Hmmm. Let’s see what we’ve got here. Strength…enhanced senses…magnetism…flight. Saaaaayyyy. Corporeal acceleration? Whoa. Did you say super-speed? Faster than speeding-Computer!"

Bop-boooooop!

"Explain how this works!"

Brrrleeeet. This component will apply selected holographic settings on the subject. A compartment in the arch opened and deposited an armband, which B’Elanna snatched up.

"In other words, I can actually RUN at least 100 kph?" She put it on.

Affirmative. Please select from the following parameters…Allen. West. Maximoff…

"Holy Eugenics Wars! I can go THAT fast? Gimme that silver-haired magic…"

à à Ã

Janeway was finally back on top, the length of her compact form covering that of a pouting blonde. "Seven, just why are you so concerned about an affair I had a long, long time ago?" In a galaxy far, far away…

The lovely, statuesque blond half-turned, her blue eyes blazing with intensity. "You still have feelings for this person who is ‘no longer in the picture’, as you put it. Now that we are intimate, I wish for your romantic attention to be directed towards me and no one else. That attention is being threatened by your reminiscing. I wish to ascertain that threat."

Great. Now she’s pulling the "We’re in a relationship now and we can’t keep secrets" routine. Translation: She’s jealous. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m just as bad… "Look, Seven. I understand that there are things about myself that I haven’t told you, but there is no need to find that out all at once." Her hand slid around Seven’s waist as she leaned over and planted a soft kiss on the upturned face. "All will be revealed in due time." Kiss. "All will be revealed."

Quiet, now, Seven returned the insistent kiss infusing warmth in her mouth. She moaned when a hand raked across her breast. She reached up to cup Janeway’s face. The intensity of the kisses and caresses gave an indication of…guilt? Was there a need for redemption? Forgive me. Yes, I have faults. Yes, I am flawed. Yes, my past is anything but perfect. Forgive me. Why did the emotion love have to be so complicated? Simply put, Seven didn’t want to share Kathryn with anyone else and that bothered her. Perhaps the Doctor’s suggestion that she ‘play hard to get’ wasn’t such a good idea after all. When warm lips traveled to her throat and a hand sought the heat between her legs, everything else was shut out. A slender finger pushed its way into the tight hole and squirmed so…delightfully. She raised her head to whisper in Kathryn’s ear. "I wish to hear this musical composition of which you speak." She kissed the intense brow, the firm cheeks, and the jutting chin.

In reply, Kathryn covered Seven’s mouth with hers and drove her tongue deep into the warm cavern. When she came up for air, she gasped, "Why don’t we save that for another time? I have a better suggestion. Computer."

Bop-boooop.

"Play Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite."

Brooo-bop-broooo…

à à Ã

Grumbling to himself, the Doctor made his way to Holodeck 2. Damned organics, with their impulses and fantasies. Didn’t they realize that thoughts lead to actions? Bad enough the Captain had been lusting after Seven of Nine for forever and a day. Now there was the matter of Lieutenant Torres lusting after the Captain, and around and round we go.

He stood before Holodeck 2 with a heavy sigh. Now he had to let the beast out of the cage, so to speak. Damn Ensign Kim and his recitation of Starfleet Medical regulations. Oh well. It seemed like a good idea at the time…

The massive doors opened with a groan and instantly, the Doctor stepped into a world of his own creation. "Lieutenant Torres!" he called. "Lucky for you, Ensign Kim has ordered me to release you. The doors are now open. Hello!"

From the corner of his optical subroutines, he caught a beige, black and grey blur zip right by him. What the hell-? Before he could speak again, he felt himself being lifted and the entire world around him became a blur. By the time it registered that he was traveling at an unholy speed, he was up against a wall pinned by a very frenzied and very pissed off B’Elanna Torres.

"Let’s see you pull some shit NOW, fuckhead!"

"Ah! I see you’ve decided to-" A blurred fury of fists collided with his face repeatedly. "Lieutenant!" Smack! Smack! Smek! "There is absolutely NO reason to-" Thwack! Thwack! THUD! "Help..." Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! SLAMMO! "All right, ALL RIGHT! I’m sorry!"

B’Elanna thumped the Doctor against the wall one more time for good measure. "Now," she growled with a trickle of drool sliding from her mouth. "I’ve just spoken to Harry. You and I are going to have a little chat…"

à à Ã

The command chair was a lot more comfortable than she’d imagined. Ensign Micki Le Beau settled into it, reading the faint, empathic impressions left by previous occupants. Hell, she could read what was going on in the Ready Room. Harry was still there after the Doctor left, and he was apprehensive. Something was up, and Micki suspected it had something to do with Torres. The emotional state of the bridge was that of speculation. Everybody wanted to know what the Doctor wanted to see Harry about.

When Harry finally stepped out to the Bridge, everyone started talking at once.

"Sir, what happened?"

"What the Doctor want?"

"Something happen?"

"Am I in trouble?"

Le Beau got up from the chair as Harry approached. "Everything okay, sir?"

Harry groaned as he plopped down in the chair. "Just peachy, Le Beau. Just peachy. The Doc had a little…ah…situation, and I’ve just now straightened it out."

"That bad, huh?" said Le Beau as she took the Engineering Station.

"Like you said, the drama continues. Okay. Quiet, everyone. We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Let’s recheck those sensor logs, shall we?"

The chorus of "Aye, sir"s were less than enthusiastic. They REALLY wanted to hear some dirt. Oh well.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. The crew’s morale was is desperate need of a boost. Calling Neelix was out of the question, though. Who wanted to be subjected to Talaxian Mystery Meat at this hour? Then, that damn song popped into his head again with a vengeance. Nah, he really shouldn’t. Oh, hell yes he would. He glanced at Le Beau, who smiled and nodded. "Okay, everyone. Sing-along. Computer."

Bop-booop.

"Play the Smiths’ This Charming Man, sans vocals."

Broo bop brooo…

Immediately, a happy guitar rift rang throughout the Bridge, following and equally happy backbeat. At his cue, Harry opened his mouth and with a rich baritone:

"Punctured bicycle…. on a hillside, desolate…. can Nature make a man of me yet…"

Micki joined in with a perfectly pitched alto…

"Then in this charming car…this charming man…Why pamper life’s complexities when the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat? I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear…This man said, ‘It’s gruesome that someone so handsome should-"

Deet-deet-deet. Deet-deeet-deeet. "Sir?" called the ensign manning Ops. "There’s a vessel bearing One mark 862, approaching on an intercept course. It came out of nowhere!"

Damn. And I was just getting into it, too. "Raise shields."

"Aye, sir!" called Security.

"Vessel status?"

"Approaching at quarter impulse. Weapons appear to be off-line."

But that could change in a matter of seconds. "Go to yellow alert and hail them."

"We have a response, sir. Audio only."

"On speakers."

All eyes were on Harry. His mind clicked El-Aurian. He turned to Le Beau and mouthed the words, get her up here. Nodding, the young engineer keyed in commands on her console.

Harry then settled back in the chair and crossed his legs. The Captain will arrive shortly Mr…?"

??? "Music? We didn’t broadcast anything."

!!! "Very impressive, Mr. Feron."

Now, the entire bridge crew was utterly confused. Harry had yet another epiphany. "You’ve just arrived from the nearby anomaly we’ve just looked at, didn’t you?"

"We…ah…probably woke her up."

Harry didn’t like where this was going. Everybody else, on the other hand, was in a virtual feeding frenzy. What was keeping the Captain, anyway? It was only a two-deck trip, after all. In the time it took for the mysterious Feron to make himself known, Janeway should have made it.

Ten minutes and half-way through Feron’s long and winding tale about his ancestral namesake who once bonded with a primal force and then tied all the parallel timelines into one matrix along with the five individuals repaired that matrix later, the captain was still a no-show. When Harry looked at Micki, she said, "No response, sir." As the smooth, hypnotic voice droned on and on, transfixing his audience, Harry quietly paged Chakotay. Fuck this, let the commander handle this guy. "Excuse me, Mr. Feron?"

%$#@*! "I’ve called up my commander to speak with you."

"Apparently, she’s busy right now, otherwise she’d be here." Where the heck is she?

"If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to have visual contact, please."

Oh my. Where are my manners? Very well. Instantly, the viewscreen was filled with the image of a jovial-looking humanoid male with long black hair with a lone silver streak over his left temple. His eyes were balck as well, with no visible irises. Is this better?

Commander Chakotay, looking extremely tired, made his way to the command chair. Harry got up and whispered, "His name’s Feron. He’s quite the talkative one." After getting an acquiescent nod, the young ensign took the Ops Station.

Clearing his throat, Chakotay straightened his tunic. "This is Commander Chakotay of the starship Voyager…"

Chakotay blinked. "I’m afraid not, Mr. Feron. I understand that you’ve just been inside the phenomenon we’ve been studying…"

Chakotay shot a look at Harry.

"We’ve called her several times, sir. No response."

This is ridiculous. "Chakotay to Captain Janeway, please respond."

A virtual blare of music filled the Bridge, making everyone jump. Le Beau and Harry recognized it as Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite.

Oh, what a lovely tune. Feron clapped his huge hands merrily. I remember its world premiere quite well. Naturally, Igor was nervous at the time…

Chakotay pounced on the command console. "Excuse for a moment, Mr. Feron." Why can’t she hear the page over the music? Must be a malfunction. "I’m going to try a Code 47."

Harry and Micki exchanged looks across the room.

Feron was apparently enjoying the show. Well, I am truly sorry to have disturbed you all at this time. May I contact you later? Or at least when your captain is available?

"Well, Mr. Feron…" Chakotay began. "I apologize for…"

In a blink, the image on the screen changed into that of the stars. Everyone stared at it in disbelief.

Just then, the turbolift doors flew open and a small figure darted out.

"REPORT!"

à à Ã

The next morning, there was a staff meeting, but before we join them, let’s wrap up, shall we?

The excavation went without a hitch. An Away Mission led by Harry resulted in at least a kiloton of much-needed raw materials.

B’Elanna eventually came to an agreement with the good Doctor, and then got hooked on his new experimental Holo-program. She then turned Tom and Harry on to it. Harry did just fine. He picked something safe, like telekinesis. And Tom? Well, we all know how he just loves to fly…

Feron was never heard form again that day. Then, his vessel simply disappeared. One moment, he was there, and the next…? Obscure, labyrinth cal sensor readings were all that remained. A handful of crewmembers were in the process of figuring it out. It was time to move on, anyway…

And now, the morning after…

à à Ã

The staff meeting was understandably awkward. Captain Janeway barely made eye contact. The past 24 hours was discussed in clipped tones and very little emotion. Tom kept his mouth shut, for once. Tuvok’s eyebrows seemed to take a life of their own. B’Elanna was transfixed by the scents swirling from the captain. When it was over, everyone filed out the Briefing Room in silence. Lieutenant Torres lingered behind, swiveling a chair between her hands.

After a long draught of Atomic Coffee, Janeway looked up. "Is there anything else, Lieutenant?

Whip me. Bind me in chains. "Oh, not really. I was just wondering…who was that guy?"

Janeway shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps, he was just passing through, just like we are. We do have to keep moving, though. How are the engines?"

"Top shape."

"Sounds good. Dismissed."

Nodding, B’Elanna exited the Briefing Room.

Once she was alone, Janeway’s shoulders sagged with a shuddering sigh. She stared into the empty coffee cup clutched in her hands as she contemplated what-will-be’s, stories of old, might-have-beens, and ghosts…