Chapter 6 Paris ran through the docking ring, heedless of the station personnel who had to get out of his way. Parts of his mind noted the jangling of the earring, the fact that he was running at all, how out of shape he was for the sprint, but none of that mattered. He had to get to Ba'ruq. One thing for damn sure he missed about Starfleet was comm badges. The airlock to the Logan was open, and a few Bajoran technicians were leaving the vessel. Tom pushed past them but was forced by his labored breathing and deteriorated leg muscles to slow to a walk. He started toward the engine room, but realized that with strangers on board, the Klingon would be keeping himself out of sight. He stopped at a computer panel and brought up the comm system. "Paris to Ba'ruq," he panted. "Ba'ruq here. What's your trouble?" the harsh voice answered testily. "Big trouble. Where are you?" "My quarters." "I'll be there in five." The Logan was not a big ship, needing only a crew of twenty or so. After the last run, there were only twelve of the original Runners left, supplemented by seven members of the crew of Paris' destroyed ship. Logan's captain had been killed, and even though he was injured himself Tom had taken over thoughtlessly, treating the remaining crew as his own. That had been the mistake. It wasn't that they weren't glad of the Paris legend in the captain's chair. No, the mistake was trusting them as if they were his own. Ba'ruq's origins were a well-guarded secret, known only to his shipmates. Tom thought he was as good an engineer as B'Elanna. In fact, Tom's main contact with Seven over the last year had been based on her decision keep them constantly abreast of the warp modifications. Ba'ruq had spent his free time either implementing the changes or critiquing them, and B'Elanna never knew where some of Seven's more controversial 'insights' had originated. Tom thought of him as a gift from the universe, and forgot how despised he would be among the Klingons of the Empire. Klingons with smooth foreheads, a minority even long ago, had once ruled the Empire. It was not even whether that the two varieties had originally evolved together, and there was much speculation that Ba'ruq's people were descended from an invading species. They had not been kind to those with skull-ridges, and the overthrow of the old rulers of the Empire had been bloody, but it had been silent. Not even the Federation really knew what had happened, or if someone did, it was never taught in schools. Even Ba'ruq was circumspect. Now Ba'ruq would be hiding, letting some team of strangers repair the ship, only going down later to check the work. Tom knew how it galled him, but his pride was of an altogether different sort than the brash honor of other Klingons Tom knew. Ba'ruq understood the value of patience and discretion. All orders and requests still went through him, but to the strangers on board he was only a faceless voice. Tom buzzed the door of the quarters. "Paris?" "Yep. Open up." The door swished to the side, and Tom stepped in. His friend had stripped off his vest and was sitting the the middle of a large piece of Dominion hardware. The engineer had remembered more than the Bajoran's earring when leaving the destroyed prison camp; he had managed to grab the camp's shield generator as well. He was occupying himself with trying to deconstruct the technology, and from the state of his hair, Tom could tell he was frustrated. The dark locks stood up in several directions. "So, what's the trouble?" Ba'ruq asked, not looking up. Tom looked at him, suddenly at a loss for words. He had arrived here fueled by anger, and now wasn't sure how to start. He began in the middle, instead. "What would you say if I told you to take the Logan, and take that shield to your people?" Ba'ruq head snapped up, and fierce eyes regarded Paris warily. "I thought you were going to give it to Starfleet. Or is that your way of getting rid of me?" His tone was defensive. "I swear, I thought Dahl was telling the truth." "No, old friend, it's my way of apologizing and trying to help correct my mistake." "Paris, what are you talking about?" Tom sighed, and the sense of emergency that prompted the sprint through the station faded. With repairs in progress, he wasn't sure the Logan could even leave yet. "Treyn Dahl was probably from Starfleet Intelligence." "What?!" "Now Starfleet knows that you exist." Paris continued as realization spread over Ba'ruq's face, "He lied to you about what I would do. Sure, I was ready to die, but I am glad to live. If he'd repaired me right away, I would still have medical problems, but they wouldn't be so severe. And, dammit, I would have stayed put if he'd done it. I wouldn't have gone off to try and get killed just because I'd finally offed a Changeling." Tom sat down on the other side of the pile of Dominion technology. "He lied to you when he said I would do that, but you did what you thought was right. Thank you for saving me." Ba'ruq accepted the gratitude with an incline of his head. "So what did that son of a howling bitch do to you?" Tom swallowed. "Along with the muscle simulators, he embedded data chips to be retrieved by Starfleet. That's why he insisted on DS9; their chief doctor has a history with Intelligence." "How do you know this?" Ba'ruq busied himself with his work while he listened. "Seven of Nine. She told me she was going to regenerate, but instead she broke into the station's computer. Something about the medical tricorder data didn't seem right to her, and when Bashir was removing the implants in the Infirmary this morning, some of them seemed to disappear." The Klingon shot him a questioning look. "He used local, low power transporters to remove them from my muscles. Most of them re-materialized on a tray next to the biobed, but a few didn't appear. I don't know whether anyone but Seven or a Vulcan would have noticed that the number of transports and the number of implants didn't add up. "Anyway, when she got into the medical systems she saw how he'd deleted a Starfleet signature before giving my original scan data to her." "That doctor was involved? I will kill him." "No." Tom shook his head in negation. "Seven thinks Bashir deleted the data in a way that she'd notice. He's too smart to make a mistake. He must have wanted us to figure out about the data chips." Ba'ruq put his instruments down and stared levelly at Paris. "Data chips. He used you to carry data chips? How can you speak so calmly about how Dahl used you?" Tom returned the look and answered, "Because I'm more worried about you. I don't know if Starfleet will tell the Klingon High Council about you, but if they find out where your colony is hidden, won't they come finish what they started?" "Likely so." The Klingon rose and began to straighten his work area. "How soon can you leave?" Tom moved to his feet also. "I'll have to see what those thumb-fingered Bajorans have fouled up this time, but I could probably go tomorrow morning." Tom knew he was covering emotions with insult. The Bajorans had done good work. "I'm sorry," he said. "Not your fault. I knew what risk of exposure I was taking by joining the Runners. Damn. I liked him, trusted him." The dark eyes wouldn't meet Tom's now. "Me, too. We were both misled." Tom agreed. "Ba'ruq," he began. "Shut up, Paris." He stood a moment, and then turned and walked swiftly up to Tom, grabbing him by the top of the vest and pulling him so that their foreheads touched. "Don't die," he growled. "It will never be a good day for *you* to die." He let Tom go as abruptly as he'd grabbed him, and went back to the pile on the floor. He regarded the shield components, listening to hear when Paris opened the door. Before it could slide shut behind him, Tom heard, "Thank you, Paris. This will help protect us if we are found." Tom paused in the open doorway and said over his shoulder. "It was the least I could do. Right now, Starfleet owes me. You took it. You deserve it." Then, "Ba'ruq?" "Yes?" "I hope we will meet again. I will miss you." The Klingon grunted in acknowledgement, and Tom stepped forward to let the door close. *--* As he made his way around the docking ring to Wolf Raider, Tom was still debating what to tell Chakotay, whether to tell him any of what Seven had found out. What he hadn't told Ba'ruq was that Bashir could have repaired all the damage, that the remainder he'd left was a ruse to get him, Tom, to bring Borg technology to Starfleet Medical. They wanted his implants because they were simple compared to trying to deconstruct an entire Borg. Limited function and known programming would make it easier for them to understand how nanoprobes communicated, how the small machines self-replicated. Bashir had been told to let Tom and Seven go forward with the implants so that Starfleet could take what Seven had denied them. Bashir had quietly made sure they knew that. Now Tom could see Seven of Nine waiting outside the airlock to Wolf Raider in her 'drone awaiting instructions' pose. No telling what was really going on in her head. When he approached she turned in his direction. "Is Ba'ruq all right?" Tom nodded. "He'll leave as soon as he can." "And you?" There was genuine concern in the question. "Angry." Tom sighed. "I haven't decided whether to tell him." They both knew who 'him' meant. "I have... an idea." Tom looked past her blond head. "I'm listening." Her eyes moved deliberately up and down the corridor. "Not here." He nodded, understanding her hint that discretion was advised. "Special exercise session tomorrow morning? Your program?" "That would be a good option." He turned to go into the airlock, but Seven put her hand on his arm. "Tom?" Tom's brow furrowed briefly in annoyance. "What?" "Tell Chakotay you will go to Starfleet Medical as Bashir suggested." Tom sighed and leaned against the wall. "You know I don't want to go there. You said these implants will last my lifetime, so even if my own nerves don't regenerate, who cares?" He looked over at her. "Besides, I thought you didn't want them to have your technology." "And they will not get it." Seven turned to stand in front of him, holding his eyes with her own. "I need you to come to Earth. It is important to my idea." Tom tugged absently at his earring, dropping his eyes. "All right, all right." "Please be discreet. If you tell him" -- he supplied the words she didn't say: what Dahl did, what Starfleet is trying to do -- "he will try to dissuade you from going to San Francisco. I suggest we keep this information private." "All right," Tom repeated, rubbing his chin tiredly. "Shall we?" She bent forward, and preceded him into the airlock. "I have an appointment with Commander Kim," Seven told the security guard at the entrance to the ship. "And Mr. Paris is expected by Captain Chakotay."