"Seven?" Tom hit the door, frustrated. "Seven, answer the door! Computer, open the damn door, recognize--" And his codes refused to surface from the confused swirl of his mind. With a growl, he unfastened control panel and with a few twists of wire got the door open.

Prison, as he had once remarked to Harry, was an educational establishment. In far more ways than Tom, at that moment, really wanted to remember.

Considering his current memory situation, however, maybe he should be more enthusiastic about remembering *anything*--

It chirped--rather smugly, he thought--before opening to reveal dark, empty quarters.

"Computer, lights. Seven, are you in here?" It was painfully obvious she wasn't here--but Tom was Tom, and he wasn't giving up without proof positive that Seven had somehow, for some reason, slipped out.

Tom stalked around, throwing the PADD on a chair, taking in the quiet, extremely neat main room, before ducking his head into the bedrooms and the bathroom, then retreating to the office. His message was still visible on the monitor--he turned away angrily, noting vaguely that the table was set for a meal for two--apparently, Seven had been planning to see him.

Frustrated, he hit his commbadge.

"Paris to Seven of--Seven Paris, please respond." When he wanted to yell at her to get down here *now* so he could take out a little frustration, so he could thrown those damned PADDs at her and ask who the hell did she think she was, what the hell had she done, *why* had she done it--

He grimaced, spinning on his heel to take in the room again, as if she might be hidden behind the couch or watching him from the corners. Perhaps behind the potted lemon tree by the door. Or under the coffee table--

There was no response to his hail. He paced to the door, hitting the commbadge again.

"Paris to Kim, respond."

Nothing, not even the static of an open channel.

"Damn. Damn, damn, *damn*."

Harry had done those modifications on the holodeck, Tom knew it--knew Harry had somehow, for some reason, introduced a worm into that program, making it crash--though why the hell it had happened was beyond Tom's understanding--he needed to get to the holodeck and try to find out what the hell that was--he needed to get to Sickbay and see if anyone had come near B'Elanna, anyone or *anything*--God, he needed to see Seven and ask her, demand to know what the hell had happened to him, what--

He needed a drink. Preferably with a high proof.

He needed to calm down.

Tom wasn't sure he could--better yet, he wasn't even sure he wanted to. There was nothing to take the edge off his anger, nothing to direct it at and be unleashed, to get rid of the frustration and fear and a rage he hadn't even been aware he was capable of. Then, a moment where he took a breath, considered what he was doing, and let the blindingly obvious solution get into his head.

"Computer, location of Ensign Paris and Ensign Kim."

There was a remarkably long pause, at least to Tom's ear, before the answer finally came.

:::Ensign Paris and Ensign Kim are currently unavailable.:::

"And what the hell does that mean?" But Tom Paris controlled himself--it was an effort--and he forced his fingers to relax at his sides, flexing them out of the clench that had briefly, and oddly painlessly, driven his nails into his palms.

This was *not* the time to lose his head. Who else could he talk to, who would know--

"Paris to Nicoletti." His voice sounded strained.

He waited a beat, then took off his commbadge. {Is this damn thing working?} He fumbled it back on to his shirt, turning to the couch and sitting down to take a deep breath, trying to find some sort of center, because this was *not* the time to lose his rapidly diminishing self-control.

"Paris to Nicoletti, respond. Computer, location of Lieutenant Nicoletti."

:::Lieutenant Nicoletti is located in Engineering.:::

He waited another second, then turned on his heel to go to the door, walking out into the corridor and, abruptly, noticed Dalby, of all people, and Ayala come in view. Tuvok's favorite security personnel, looking straight at him with solemn expressions, as if--

--they were coming for him. And that brought up some incredibly vivid memories of the last time he'd had two men in Starfleet security coming up to him--and he did *not* need that either tonight.

"Tom?" Ayala came to a stop as Tom took a step back. "Listen, Commander Chakotay--"

"What?" His voice was sharp, and he made no attempt to modify it. It was enough he was able to stand still outside the door and not bolt for the turbolift, to do a room by room search of the entire fucking ship for his erstwhile wife and her partner in crime--

Ayala paused, frowning a little.

"You--the Commander wants you under guard, sir." Ayala was obviously slightly embarrassed by the instructions--Dalby (who was not a Tommy fan, as Tom knew himself) simply shrugged at Tom's quick glance.

"Under guard?" He heard the disbelief in his voice and felt the utterly inappropriate smile curve his mouth at the very concept.

Chakotay was many things, and Tom could wax lyrical on the many shortcomings of the Commander, but he'd never accuse him of stupidity.

Ayala hesitated again and Tom grabbed the man's arm, turning him fully to face him, meeting the startled brown eyes.

"Tell me. What happened?"

Under normal circumstances, Ayala very well might have tossed him against the wall for that little bit of handling, but he was, if nothing else, a remarkably astute man. A former Maquis acting as Tuvok's second--well, in that position, he had to be. The brown eyes flickered once before he relaxed and answered quietly.

"Ensign Paris and Ensign Kim are--are being questioned."

Tom stared at both officers blankly for a minute.

"Questioned?"

Ayala hesitated, then nodded slowly, not saying anything more, though by that very silence and the way the brown eyes avoided his, Tom had a damned good guess just why they were being questioned. He took a breath, letting it out slowly. Of all people, Ayala certainly didn't deserve to get the brunt of his temper.

"Isn't guarding me a little after the fact?" he heard himself say, calmly, even reasonably. Ayala shrugged, a gesture Tom found suddenly annoying. "If they are both in custody--"

"Commanders orders, sir. If you'll come with us--"

"Where are we going?" The edge in his voice was back, and Tom didn't have the concentration to lessen it.

Ayala took a breath and Tom released the stranglehold he'd had on Ayala's arm. There was only so much even Ayala could take, after all.

"The Commander asks that you stay in your quarters, sir," Ayala began, but Tom was already jumping ahead.

"Stay in my quarters?" This made no sense--every suspect was now in custody, unconscious, or-- "Why now? If they're in custody--"

"Sir--"

"What is Chakotay worried about? Are there more people lined up for my blood?"

Dalby smirked a little, which Tom filed away for the time being, and Ayala shook his head. There was honest worry on his face--which Tom had every intention of exploiting.

"I don't know, sir--I have my orders."

He found it unlikely, however, that Ayala would volunteer any further information--not with that look on his face.

"To take me to my quarters." {Hell, maybe I'm a suspect in my own assault--that isn't such a huge leap since apparently half the ship is suspect now. Seven and Harry--why Seven and Harry? What's the connection? Q--B'Elanna--Harry--a program on the holodeck Harry wrote with no discernable purpose--what the hell is going on?}

"I need to get to Holodeck 2," Tom said quickly, keeping his gaze on Ayala's face. Dalby, luckily, was the subordinate to Ayala here, and Ayala was at least somewhat sympathetic. "You can guard me just as well there as here--I need to talk to Sue--"

Ayala blinked.

"Sue?"

"Yes, Sue. It will only take a minute--" it would take longer, but Tom didn't really think Ayala needed to know that. Or the fact that he knew Sue was no where near the holodeck right now.

"Tom--"

"Only for a minute--I need to ask her something." He saw Ayala frown, then slowly nod, as if it was against his better judgement, and Tom let out a breath in relief.

"Only a few minutes," Ayala said sharply, and Tom grinned.

* * * * *

B'Elanna came groggily awake, feeling something pressed to her neck. Opening her eyes, she met the Doctor's cool brown and something she hadn't even known was tensed within her loosened.

He wasn't Q.

"Doctor," she breathed. And for probably the first and only time in her numerous stays in Sickbay, past and future, B'Elanna looked at him in relief. Maybe even pleasure. "What's happening?"

"You're being released to quarters," the Doctor answered brusquely, putting down the tricorder he'd been examining her with and turning away. "Two security officers will accompany you."

"Not the brig?" She wasn't quite sure what to make of that development.

"No." He bit off the words and B'Elanna came upright, slowly shaking her head. The dull ache was nearly gone. Moving her head, however, did not encourage that cheering circumstance to continue, so she held it carefully still, sliding from the edge of the biobed to the floor. She glanced warily to the door, seeing the two security officers waiting patiently for her to get her feet under her.

"Doctor?" He had his back to her, apparently engrossed in some sort of organizational effort of an already perfectly-organized supply closet.

"You're fine, Lieutenant." He almost spat the words. "You're free to go." And without a backward glance, he walked into his office, pointedly shutting the door behind him. For a moment, B'Elanna had the odd notion to actually walk in after him, demand why he was angry--

Ah, that made sense.

Slowly, she approached security and they arranged themselves neatly on either side. On entrance into the corridor, the Sickbay door shut behind them, B'Elanna began approach to the turbolift.

The corridor had never looked so long.

"They took Seven and Harry in for questioning."

B'Elanna felt her back begin to crawl. Her step stumbled, and Crewman Jarvis put her hand under her elbow briefly, squeezing it with a brief smile before they continued their journey to that turbolift. The walls and carpet blurred.

And suddenly, those entries she hadn't recognized, the extra transporter entries she knew she'd never authorized, the very day of the explosion--and Seven, who'd found everything in only a few hours--

But Harry might--if Q--. B'Elanna stared blankly at the approaching turbolift.

Her teeth clenched.

"When?" B'Elanna's mouth went dry.

"During gamma. Commander Chakotay found something." Jarvis' voice was low, but not so low that Ensign Parsons, the ranking officer, couldn't hear. "No one knows what, but he's had then in questioning through the night." A pause. "Captain Janeway has been sequestered with them." Her voice had an edge of scorn. "Probably to protect her precious Borg foundling."

B'Elanna nodded slowly, not sure what to think. Even less sure how to think it.

There was so much she didn't know--about those recovered entries, the explosion, Q--

* * * * *

Joe Carey watched in surprise as Sue appeared for alpha shift in a condition that defied easy description. It wasn't her appearance, exactly--as usual, her uniform was Starfleet neat, hair in perfect order, clean, and utterly irreproachable in look or manner. It wasn't her appearance, then. It was her expression.

She looked as if she hadn't slept in a week.

Almost as soon as she walked into Engineering, she saw him, and made a bee-line to his workstation, her gait jerky, and looked up at him with mute appeal.

"I need your help." Her voice was almost too low to hear.

"With what?" Her fingers, gripping the edge of the console, were white with tension. He covered her hand gently. "I guess you heard."

She started, jerking away, leaving his hand hovering over empty air. Joe watched her take two involuntary steps back before, and he could see it, she *forced* herself to stop, take a breath.

"Heard?" Her voice was too high and Carey was actively worried. Her eyes refused to meet his.

"Ensign Paris and Harry were taken in for questioning," he said slowly, watching her face, the set of her shoulders. "Commander Chakotay went over the logs she discovered and found some--problems."

"Problems?" Now her eyes met his, honestly surprised. So that wasn't it. Carey considered her briefly, the nervous movements of her hands, before finally answering.

"He wants to know how Seven found all those log entries so quickly. And for Harry to account for his location when Tuvok was attacked."

Sue nodded slowly, as if she were trying to control the jerkiness that seemed to possess the rest of her.

"Yeah. No, I didn't--" she broke off, giving herself a little shake. "I need to erase a holoprogram from the holodeck, and I don't have the access codes."

Carey blinked.

"Why? Sue--" and this seemed so elementary that Carey felt like an idiot to explain it, "you can't erase someone else's holoprogram, not without their consent or, in the case of no consent, without due cause. You'd need to take it to the Captain."

Sue shook her head sharply.

"I--look, it--it's partially mine. I helped--I helped write parts, and--you know the one that keeps breaking down the holodeck?" Carey nodded. "Well, I put it in storage but--I can't make it permanent unless--I mean, I can't erase it, and if it keeps doing that--breaking the holodeck--the power drain is huge. I thought--"

"Tom's program?" She hesitated, then nodded. "Tom can delete it--just ask him. He or Seven should have the proper access--or Harry, for that matter--" Belatedly, Cary remembered that the latter two were unavailable, and possibly for an extended period of time. "I'll talk to Tom--" {Would Tom even know the codes now?}

"No!" Carey blinked at her vehemence, but before he could frame a question, Sue shook her head sharply.

"No. I'll--I'll talk to him, okay? Next shift."

Carey nodded slowly.

"Okay. Sue--are you okay?" It was an inane question, and he saw her gearing herself to deny how she obviously felt--but after a moment, she shook her head.

"No, I--I don't feel well this morning."

Carey nodded.

"Why don't you take this shift off? Go to Sickbay and then just--spend some time resting. You've been pulling doubles anyway since--" He trailed off, saw the acknowledgement in her eyes. "Since then. In any case, it won't hurt Engineering to be short for a little while. Go."

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue. Then, slowly, she nodded, turning abruptly and beginning her short walk to the door before turning to look at him briefly.

"Thanks, Joe." Her voice was almost a whisper, and then she turned again, going out the door quickly.

Joe watched the door she'd exited thoughtfully. She was stressed about the questioning, the uncertainty--he could understand her fixation on a single problem that she might be able to fix. He looked thoughtfully at the reports, then shook his head, going to B'Elanna's office and sitting uncomfortably in B'Elanna's chair, before turning to her monitor.

"Computer, call up log file on breakdowns in holodeck two. Sort by date."

* * * * *

Tom frowned, checking the computer, but the program had been shut down and stored, so it could not be run again without specific clearance. Engineering clearance. Upper level engineering clearance, the kind they locked down the damned warp core controls with.

Obviously, not clearance he had.

What the hell did she think was going to happen, anyway? To shut it down to keep it from being run again made sense if it was coming on randomly, but why the algorithmic clearance to get it on? Dammit, she knew he wanted to look at it, study it--

"Damn."

"Tom?" Ayala was standing by the door, looking uncertain. Tom took a breath.

"I need a few minutes--is there a real difference standing outside my quarters or here?"

Ayala looked thoughtful, then glanced at Dalby, who, characteristically enough, didn't look interested enough to comment either way.

"Only for a few minutes--Lieutenant." The emphasis on rank was clear, and Tom nodded. With gratifying speed, Ayala walked out the holodeck door and Tom watched it slowly close behind him.

"Computer, upload encrypted file Sandrine's Paris Beta Three from my personal database, authorization Paris Omega One Three." He took a breath, watching the program come to life--a dark bar, low lights, the usual sense of genially repressed menace, and an almost painful nostalgia rose in Tom--the one and only reason he had kept this program at all.

"Computer, remove all holocharacters except B'Elanna." His voice sounded hoarse.

They were alone.

"B'Elanna." For some reason, it was easier to call her that now.

Standing at the bar, brown hair lightly pushed back from her forehead, watching him with the same cool, predatory gaze he wasn't used to yet, not coming from a hologram. He must have worked *weeks* to get her perfect in all those little mannerisms. Her lips curved slightly as she swung herself around on that barstool.

"Hey." She said, sitting down in a single graceful motion that hurt to watch, it was so familiar. "Back for more, Helmboy?" Her mouth held the lightest suggestion of a smirk.

"Yeah, sort of." He sat down himself, aware of the way the brown eyes followed him. Uneasily, he shifted in the chair, then took a short breath. "Did Harry hate me?"

"As of the creation of this program?" One small hand waved in the air for general reference to the entire room. Her flippant attitude bothered him--it was so much like her, and yet not at all--and what the hell did he know anyway, he didn't have any recent memories, did he? But he couldn't imagine her this brittle, this cold. "You would know better than I do."

Though apparently, at one time, his imagination had been good enough to create this.

The thought sickened him now, as it should have before, if he hadn't been so damned interested in finding out just how his failed romance had died, if he'd focused on something other than his screwed-up past--if he'd just spent a few minutes *thinking*. Not reacting.

"What would I know?" he answered bitterly, then shook his head. "How much information did I give you?"

"Everything that happened until last run, stardate--"

Her voice was a light mockery of Seven's speech. He wondered if it was deliberate.

"You sound like Seven."

Dark eyes narrowed dangerously and her fingers closed on the edge of the table.

"What happened between you and Harry?" His voice was soft. She jumped a little, eyes widening perfectly, then looked away, quickly, fingers playing on the table edge as if they wished for a drink to occupy them.

"Why--?"

"I don't know. Small things--" He tilted his head, watching her reactions. "Seven's diary--she wasn't very complimentary on your fling with him, you know."

He kept his voice light but it was more of an effort than he had expected. Seven's history lesson--her commentary as coolly accurate as an astrometrics report. And he wished, only briefly, that he had a few minutes to think about this development, think about everything that it meant, could mean, but he couldn't lose his focus now. He'd done that once and B'Elanna ended up in Sickbay.

But the thought of it was still a twist in the gut that he knew would never completely go away.

B'Elanna leaned back in the chair, a single sharp line slashing between her eyes.

"Why are you asking?"

"How close were you two? After?"

B'Elanna's gaze lowered to the table, scraping with one nail at the smoke-darkened wood.

"Not very--we didn't talk as much, didn't--and he didn't know what to do around you, say around you--he didn't think you knew, thought you did--you never told him you knew. You let him dangle awhile." B'Elanna's mouth curved slightly in a small smile. "It was funny, I guess."

"Did you know?"

"Yes." The eyes went back down again, smile fading. She didn't speak again, scratching lightly at the table, as if she wanted to scrape every stain away with her short nails in one sitting.

Tom drew in a breath, watching her hands work on the table.

"I was upset?"

"To say the least." She leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "You came here that last night, talked about it a little." The brown eyes were serene.

"Did I love Seven?"

"Yes." Her voice was low.

He paused.

"Did I love you?"

Maybe that should have been the question he asked before confronting her in her quarters, finally able to touch her, have one thing be right--maybe this was the only question that mattered, anyway. Every question he had on who he had been--it started with this. Could he be in love with one person and marry another--if he had taken the woman his best friend loved--if he could coolly live a life with a woman that had been, for all intents and purposes, second choice. Second best.

God, if that were true--

"You said you hated me." A pause, and he saw her eyes were fixed on the table. The small fingers had stopped moving, fixed into position. He couldn't see her face, a fall of straight dark hair blocking his view.

"Did I love you?" he whispered. He touched her fingers, realized they trembled beneath his, lifting dark eyes briefly, and he thought--maybe--he saw tears. No, he couldn't see that--B'Elanna didn't cry. Never cried.

"Yes."

He stood up, turning away.

"Who was I?" He stared around the program, frustrated because nothing was giving him an answer that clarified--if anything, it seemed to complicate everything even more. "Do--do you know what this was, B'Elanna? This program?" The sweep of his arm took in the room.

"Yes--your first version of Sandrine's--the one you based the user-friendly version for the crew on." He turned to look at her, noting her eyes were on the table again. Her voice was so quiet that if the room hadn't been still, he never would have heard her.

"What kind of man did I become?" He stared around the room. "I shut this down a long time ago--even by my eminently screwed-up standards of time. And I resurrected it for what--to spend some quality time screwing with my own head? That doesn't make sense."

It was an odd thing, to third-personalize yourself. But he'd done it, and it felt damned good, to separate the two people, not try anymore to make them work because there was no way in *hell* he wanted to be the man who had sat in this bar and drank water to watch a darker version of B'Elanna taunt him.

It was indecent. Bad enough to base a character off someone he loved--had loved--who the hell knew, anyway? But to wallow in it--from the time indexes Tom had looked over, he'd spent a lot of his nights here. Seven of Nine during the day, here at night. De facto infidelity, though he wondered, a little darkly, who exactly he was being unfaithful to--Seven or B'Elanna?

Whatever he had become, it had ended on the Flyer and he wasn't, didn't want to, would *not* try and resurrect him, or his life, or his past--or his wife.

"Did Harry hate me?" he asked, back still turned. "Did he want Seven?"

There was an even longer silence, and Tom forced himself not to look at her.

"Tell me."

Another long pause, and he had to turn around, to see her--God, it hurt to see her shoulders hunch like that.

"He asked me the same thing." Her voice was a whisper.

"Who?" No one had accessed this program other than him--it had been on his damned database, after all.

"He came here with Seven--wife now, right?" And she was the hologram again, smiling serenely. "She knew, Tom, ran your last interview here and watched it." B'Elanna's lips curved slightly. "Didn't look too happy about it, either. In her Borg way."

"No one accessed this except me."

She shrugged slightly.

"He was in the bar, we talked. He was getting Seven's codes--from her diary, he said. She laid her PADD down, he got the codes, disappeared." Her fingers gestured vaguely. "She never knew." A smile turned her lips. "Seven saw this program, Tom. Knows what I know. You married her." Her head turned away. "You said you'd never love her like you loved me. I guess you were wrong."

He stared at the hologram for a minute.

"I said that?" His voice was a whisper.

B'Elanna smirked slightly, then turned her head away. Tom's hands began to shake and he clenched them at his sides.

"End program."

She disappeared with an odd mundanity, leaving him alone staring at the hologrid. Ayala must have been watching the monitor outside--he came in almost immediately, stopping at the door, perhaps feeling he should not intrude.

"Tom, we've got to go." Ayala's voice was sympathetic--maybe he read the shock on Tom's face.

Tom nodded slowly.

"Yeah, let's go." He knew his voice betrayed him and didn't care. "Out of here."

* * * * *

Her terminal was dark and B'Elanna knew, without checking, that it had been deactivated and was very possibly beyond even her very advanced hacking skills. Her PADDs were gone, doubtless to examine for evidence, and her room looked ransacked--but in a very professional way that had Ayala's distinctive style written all over it. He'd been a top-drawer burglar in the Maquis, she remembered that, and a faint grin surfaced.

Parsons and Jarvis were just outside, and while B'Elanna had no doubts she could get by them if she needed to, it really wasn't necessary. All the information would have to come through official channels. It was the only information she needed.

It occurred to her, for the first time since she'd wakened, that he hadn't popped up to annoy her in awhile. Checking the chronometer on the table, she noted the time and did some quick calculations. Q had never left her alone this long before, not without at least one jump-in to give her some advice or remind her of what she should be doing--or saying--or planning--

--and part of her wanted him here, just so she could try to beat the shit out of him. Get some answers to questions only he knew.

Which meant that someone else had been involved. It had to, because the entries were too convenient, and some had obviously been badly concealed, which wasn't her work at all. God, she'd do anything for a copy of the charges right now and start tracing--how the hell *had* Seven found them? How the hell had she done it so fast?

*What* business? Q's were omnipotent--why would he have pressing business--

B'Elanna's mind skittered through the crew complement. Remembered what he had asked her, on perhaps the worst day of her life, and her answer.

What he had *promised* her at that wedding, watching Tom and Seven dance. Watching that--watching them together and admitting defeat, that she had lost for good and forever.

Her memory replayed it briefly--Harry on the chair, giving that unusual toast with that smile plastered to his face as if it had been grown in a petri dish and brought out specially for this occasion...

Harry, who loved Seven. Harry--Harry wouldn't--

A moment, while B'Elanna digested the implication of what she was thinking, leading inexorably to a conclusion that made both her stomachs clench.

B'Elanna felt her hand fist, spinning to the door, actually debating knocking security out of the way, let her get to Harry right now, find out what the hell he had done--

Harry was with Chakotay--this wouldn't exactly be a sterling moment to confront him, cheering though the possibility was.

B'Elanna drew in a deep breath, let it out carefully, then again, remembering long-ago instruction from Tuvok--

--briefly, B'Elanna's chest tightened, remembering her first glimpse of the Vulcan, still slightly groggy from drugs and the Doctor's repairs--

--Tuvok was in Sickbay.

Slowly, she sank down on the couch, staring at the blue-grey carpet of the floor, watching it swirl before her eyes into a single great blur.

Q was not around to answer her unspoken question. She'd have to find a way to answer them herself.

* * * * *

Chakotay knew he'd hear her cool voice in his sleep.

Sitting in his quarters, dressed for bed, his two prime suspects (his, not the Captain's), were confined to quarters and the senior staff was now down to two.

It was almost as if they were being picked off, one by one, which was a silly thought, but it stuck in his head.

He wondered, and not for the first time, who the Captain was going to promote into temporary department head. Carey and Ayala were already in position, but Chakotay hadn't even bothered to check the rosters for Harry's department or for Seven's--though doubtless the Delaneys, as next in rank, would be delighted to take over, no love lost there--

Seven's precious diaries had pretty much killed public opinion for the former Borg, and Tom, clueless as he seemed to always be in the aura of the former Borg, had never noticed. Of course, he hadn't spent too much time with his friends after Seven chose to grace her person on him either.

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, idly scrolling through the PADD, reading the transcript of the interview.

Several hours. Amazing, that they had looked days to find problems, and yet she had managed to pull up what amounted to over thirty different discrepancies, forged logs--everything a Borg drone would need to discredit her rival.

Spirits, she must have taken to heart that little talk he'd had with her before B'Elanna was injured. Convenient, too, that she had found them *after* B'Elanna was injured, so B'Elanna was unable to explain or defend herself. Mighty convenient for Seven, that she had the senior staff, him included, and an almost enthusiastic Janeway, putting the pieces together and jumping to conclusions.

But it did make him want to expand this already expanded investigation a little further and trace the source of that particular power surge, even if he couldn't seriously believe--

There was one question he hadn't asked, though he'd wanted to. And not for the investigation, either--just for the pure pleasure of seeing her face when he said it.

Of course, he couldn't--a Starfleet officer had to preserve some decorum, even if it would have been something of a catharsis just to see if there was the smallest break in her cool mask, just for a moment get something real out of her. That one day in Astrometrics had almost been enough for him to make him pity her--

--but God, and this told him a lot about himself, it would have been good to see her face if she knew what state Tom had been found in--God, it would have been good.

And Harry. Poor, exhausted, guilty-looking-as-hell Harry. Who had been on upwards of a week looking like his bed was primarily being used as a combat zone.

{--"You were in your quarters when Tuvok was attacked. Alone."--}

Idly, Chakotay picked up the PADD with Zephyr's report on it.

Zephyr had indeed been alone with Harry Kim for part of that night, corroborating his story perfectly--along with a few rather inelegant words describing Harry Kim's state that night.

Chakotay sorted out the information half-heartedly. Harry didn't have an alibi but he was--well, Harry, and bad as it looked for him, Chakotay couldn't seriously consider the young man a possible assailant of Tuvok. Which left B'Elanna, even more unpalatable and without alibi and, he knew, quite capable of taking Tuvok down--except Chakotay couldn't think she had done it. Call it instinct and be done with it--there was nothing that anyone could say that would convince him the young woman he'd trained, fought beside, watched develop into a brilliant engineer, a brilliant officer, and a friend, was a murderer. Not Tuvok, and certainly not Tom, logs or no logs.

Which left Seven, a bad suspect at best, but also without an alibi for that night, except working in Astrometrics. Odd though--when he'd asked her if she'd been alone--there'd been a pause before answering. A change in her eyes quickly hidden by lowered lids.

Not for the first time, Chakotay seriously wondered if Seven could lie.

:::Ayala to Commander Chakotay.:::

Chakotay straightened and sighed, touching his commbadge with one lazy finger.

"Chakotay here."

:::Tom is secure in quarters, sir.:::

It took a moment to wonder why this was significant, then remembered. He shook his head.

"Is security set in Sickbay?" he asked.

:::Yes, sir. Lieutenant Torres is also reported in quarters, Commander.:::

"Good. Report every four hours. Chakotay out."

Chakotay stood, stretching his back, wondering, briefly, how Tom had taken the news of his restriction, and a smile, all unwilling, turned up the corners of his lips. Probably not well. He half-wished he'd thought to ask Ayala what Tom's reaction had been--then decided that perhaps some things were best left to the imagination.

He did wonder, however, how long it would be before Tom commed him for an explanation. To be honest, he'd expected that to happen already.

* * * * *

Tom actually considered, for a full minute, somehow making a run for it. Even as he watched, with a sense of fascination, as the doors closed behind him.

It was the where that stopped him. This was Voyager, and while he knew every nook and cranny, the same could be said for most of the crew as well. He could escape on a shuttle--an amusing thought--but where exactly would he go? Explore the Delta Quadrant? Wander about the quadrant, hoping the Borg, Kazon, or any number of sundry species with a grudge against Voyager didn't see his lone little shuttle as an invitation to do a little retaliation?

That could really be a problem. This was, for all intents and purposes, the only game in town.

"Computer, status of Lieutenant Torres." And why the hell was that coming up now?

It chirped, nauseatingly cheerful.

"Lieutenant Torres has been released from Sickbay and restricted to quarters."

He let his breath out, a little surprised, trying to play down the relief that brought. She was well enough to be in quarters--and it made him wonder.

"Computer, location of Ensign S-Ensign Paris." He'd never get used to calling her Ensign Paris. He had an uncomfortable wish that he would never have to.

:::Ensign Paris is restricted to quarters.:::

Maybe she was making new log entries on how to get your husband back and break his will in a twelve step program that was guaranteed--

Well, two down, one to go, and when he asked, he wasn't surprised at all that Harry was likewise restricted to quarters. Which, come to think of it, was really very funny--three quarters of the senior staff was either a victim or a suspected perpetrator of attempted murder.

God, he'd give money to see the look on his father's face when his pet Captain came back and explained that. And was surprised by the bitter thought. He was getting to that point where he was perfectly willing--hell, eager--to start blaming everyone on the ship for his problems, which wasn't far from wrong in this case--at least, he was getting that lovely paranoid feeling which four years in the relative security of the Voyager community had managed to lull if never disperse completely.

Well, work with it, as his dear old father used to say. Work with what you got. And what he had was a list of suspects, an exploding Flyer, and a connection between them all.

And a damned, damned, damned holodeck program that wasn't working, with a worm program that shut it down every time. Why the hell had Harry done that? And for that matter--he'd looked at the coding--why the hell had the worm caused the breakdowns? There was nothing that would cause that--nothing in the awkward coding, nothing--

It got worse--he had correlated breakdowns and odd events on Voyager--exploding flyers, B'Elanna-injuries, disappearing-and-reappearing-in-bad-condition tricorders, and that one, that odd one, around the time that apparently Tuvok was attacked.

One during his interview with Harry yelling at his bed. He would bet, if he could be sure of the time index, that there had been a breakdown during the time he'd seen Harry having a discussion about framing B'Elanna with the bulkhead.

One when he'd confronted B'Elanna in her quarters.

He shied away from that memory.

And Sue, who'd shut down and shut out access to the malfunctioning holoprogram--and why the hell hadn't someone in Engineering done it when it first started anyway?

Sue, so far, hadn't been taken in for questioning, though it appeared anyone who was relatively close to him had been. At the rate of multiplication of suspects, she could very well be next. Maybe he should warn her. Maybe by the end of the week, half the ship would be under suspicion and they'd have to stop at a random planet to hold a court martial for fifty suspects. Hell, maybe by then poor Crewman Stein and the Equinox Five would be running Voyager because the rest of the ship was under suspicion--and that would be poetic justice if there ever was any.

And God help him when he was beginning to think the situation was funny.

Frustrated, Tom sank down on the couch, picking up the Seven Expose of Tom's Faults--{God, she and Dad would get along great, this could be their bonding experience every afternoon over tea and some nutritional supplements--"Seven, dear, I've noticed a tendency in Tom to enjoy life--perhaps you could do something about that for me?" "It's number seven on my list, sir."}

The family joy would continue. Girls marry men like their father--he'd married a woman like his father. God, the Auckland psyche idiot would be having a field day with this.

He wanted to see that program again. He wanted to close his eyes, wake up, and have the doc tell him this was a side-effect of being mutated for the edification of ethics-impaired alien scientists. He wanted--

"Paris to Ayala."

He *really* wanted to get out of these fucking quarters.

There was a pause.

:::Ayala here.::: He sounded vaguely wary. Tom couldn't blame him.

"When will the restriction be lifted?"

There was one of those pauses that practically screamed Bad Things.

:::I don't know, sir.:::

* * * * *

Carey, with those magnificent Engineering codes he'd inherited--briefly, he hoped--from B'Elanna as her successor in Engineering, got the program out. He could understand Sue's frustration with one look at the logs and another at the coding.

There were a limited number of normal reasons a holodeck program wouldn't run. Insufficient power was the main cause, and Joe, looking over the data, decided that in this case, that had to be the problem.

The thing he didn't understand was why. The memory required to run it was well within the maximum allowable, and even if it was not, it certainly wouldn't make the program shut down as the logs suggested.

"Damn." Joe considered the matter--there were enough mysteries on the ship without worrying about something this insignificant--but to be honest, he was approaching this task with a hell of a lot more enthusiasm than he'd devoted to the core retrieval--maybe less personal stake in it. It was a nice, solvable problem. A nice, solvable, technical problem. Carey was an engineer, not Sherlock Holmes. He liked that.

"Computer, run level seven diagnostic series on the holodeck." With half his mind engaged in entering the correct engineering codes to get that started, he considered the program. "And transfer this program to the hologram lab." He stood up, stretching his back. "Vorik, report to B'Elanna's office." It was not his, would not be his. Fact.

With satisfying promptness, Vorik appeared at the door. Carey handed over the engineering reports he'd been avoiding.

"You have engineering, Ensign. I'm going to do some research. Keep me informed on the core retrieval."

* * * * *

Harry knew his terminal was pretty much as good as a paperweight right now, with all the disabled and encrypted functions keeping him from doing anything other that perhaps viewing his logs--if those weren't already gone and being read and considered by Chakotay. And that thought was enough to give Harry pause--because there were at least a few things on there that would very possibly make him look more guilty than he already was--and he looked damned, damned guilty.

And there was Sue. Sue, with a holoprogram that--

"Ensign Kim to Lieutenant Nicoletti."

:::You are not authorized to access communications.:::

And that shouldn't have been a surprise, though it was. Harry stood up, restlessly pacing to the replicator. He ordered a drink, as had become his odd custom, before turning back to the wall and starting another pace of the floor. He'd almost swear he could see his own trail in the carpet by now.

God, but *how* was the question. How she'd done it, and why, and--well, not why. But the how--there was no way she could have--but she'd said holoprogram--

Harry gave his door a long look, then collapsed on the couch.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Nicoletti?"

There was a pause.

"Lieutenant Nicoletti is in Holodeck 2."

Harry got to his feet, sloshing the liquor onto his sleeve and letting it puddle on his immaculate floor.

She was running it--maybe destroying evidence. Maybe--maybe something worse. Harry's mouth went dry and he gulped the remainder of his drink, ignoring the burn that spread down his throat deep into his stomach.

Maybe bringing back Q.

* * * * *

Tom put down the PADD as Ayala chimed the door.

Apparently, common courtesy was in effect when one is being held for their own protection. Wonderful.

"Come."

Ayala walked in, a little hesitant, making Tom wonder what Ayala expected--for him to be ripping his quarters apart or trying to drink himself into insensibility? Either would actually be an improvement on the current reading material, but Tom, a masochist at heart, was re-reading some of the more interesting insights his lovely wife had made a point of addressing.

Yeah, Seven and Dad would get along swimmingly. He should fix them up.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just checking to see how everything is." He shifted from foot to foot, which Tom correctly interpreted as embarrassment

Tom made an expansive movement of his left arm.

"With all the entertainment of the replicator and the fun of reading some oddly enlightening logs of my wife's? I couldn't be better." He shook his head, turning away, and Ayala sighed softly.

"You found them." There was a soft edge of resignation in his voice.

That made Tom sit straight up.

"Found them?" he echoed.

"Found the diaries."

Tom took a second for that to process.

"What the hell do you mean, found them?" He lifted the PADD in one hand. "How the hell did you know about them?"

Now Ayala looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Tom saw one foot slowly edge itself toward the door.

"Tom--"

"Don't even think about it." Tom stood up, PADD still in hand. "How'd you know?"

Another pause, even more uncomfortable than the last. Then Ayala shook his head briskly, as if to clear it, and met his eyes.

"They were--it became--" Ayala stopped short, started again, apparently uncomfortable. Tom waited. He could be patient. For a few seconds. "Someone published them on the ship--most of the crew got a--copy of Seven's diary, Tom."

There's a moment in everyone's life where they have to reevaluate their existence, their relationships, their friendships--their lives to date. Tom did this in the space of a second, then slowly answered.

"Everyone?" His voice was soft.

"Commander Chakotay confiscated most of the copies."

Most of the copies. Not Sue's. Tom nodded.

"Everyone had a copy?" He slapped the PADD lightly into his palm. "Everyone saw this--what she wrote?"

About him, about his sexual habits, his prison time--and thank whatever being had stopped him from revealing everything, though what was there was quite enough--about his relationships, about his father, his mother, Starfleet, Caldik Prime--B'Elanna.

And, of course, the Improvement lists, the carefully planned manipulations, the--

"Not everyone." Ayala winced.

"Not me."

Dear God, let that be true. Because if he had read this, had known, and still stayed--if he had read the things she wrote and still married her, wanted children with her--

"Not you. And not B'Elanna."

That made sense. It made pretty good sense.

Tom slowly sat down. Stared down at the PADD for a moment, unbelieving. Then took one breath, another--

"You feel like telling me something else I might have missed?" he said softly. Ayala took a short step backward, wary. He damned well should be. "Maybe why no one bothered to tell *me*?"

* * * * *

"So that's it." There was a certain amount of satisfaction in solving a difficult problem.

Carey watched the program run, the man on the beach who seemed, rather eerily, to be watching him while he wandered about with his tricorder.

There was a worm program and the holographic man was it. He could even see why now--the worm program was painfully complex and had obviously grown, with its unlimited access to memory. A lot of memory, looking at the power curves. And he could even see why the program would have problems running--with all that memory being used, it would be difficult to keep open and stable for any length of time.

But complete breakdowns were another story altogether.

"Computer, who last accessed this program for updates to primary code?"

:::Ensign Kim.:::

Carey shook his head, walking to the console and making a few adjustments.

"Specifically, what did he do? What updates?"

::Information not available:::

Carey frowned.

"Why the hell not?" Of course, the computer wouldn't know and Carey sighed softly. Well, there was the worm, but why wouldn't the computer just name it? He shook his head, pulling up the coding again, and hoping, this time, something would show up.

* * * * *

:::Carey to Commander Chakotay.:::

Chakotay tiredly hit his commbadge and tried to think pleasant thoughts. Thoughts of a ship that lacked Seven, Harry, and hell, even Tom, who seemed to be the trouble these days. He disliked himself for the thought, but there it was.

"Chakotay here."

:::Commander, I need to speak to Ensign Kim.:::

Chakotay rubbed his eyes and tried to relax his back.

"Ensign Kim is restricted to quarters, Lieutenant. I don't think--"

:::I require his assistance in sorting out the holodeck malfunctions, Commander. I think I've found the problem.:::

"Permission denied, Lieutenant." He almost snapped his commbadge shut, then considered Carey's statement. "Carey, what holodeck malfunctions?"

There was a pause.

:::It's a constant series of malfunctions we haven't been able to stop or explain. We isolated the problem program but haven't been able to nail down the exact flaw in the program that is leading to the breakdown. Ensign Kim was the last to access it for modification, so I wanted to--:::

"Where are you located, Lieutenant Carey?"

There was another pause, and Chakotay could almost see Carey's bewildered expression.

:::In the lab, sir.:::

Anything Harry had worked on was, as far as Chakotay could tell, suspect. And it would get him out of here and able to brood over something else. So he wasn't a master programmer--he could at least have something new to look at.

"I'll be right down. Chakotay out."

* * * * *

Seven walked into her quarters, hearing rather than seeing security taking their places on either side of her door.

One look around the room told her someone had been here.

Slowly, she walked to the couch and saw a PADD, sitting neatly on a cushion, almost as if waiting for her. Curious, she picked it up and touched the controls on.

Slowly, Seven scrolled through the entries, reading rapidly, her memory easily able to supply her with the comparison to her own logs--this was a perfect copy of her log entries, up to the time Commander Chakotay had confronted her about them. And she felt her face grow hot from the memory--of the looks she received during her shift, the soft, barely heard comments she was certain she was supposed to overhear.

And God, those difficult days trying to discover a way to assure Tom never discovered them, either from other crewmembers, from Commander Chakotay--or from Harry, who had looked at her with disappointment. The difficulties of arranging her own availability so Tom would have less time for random socialization--the change of their shift so they coincided--she'd been reliably informed by the Captain that, given a few months, the crew would eventually forget the unfortunate incident.

What Seven had never forgotten was what had happened. Or stopped investigating who had managed to breach her privacy. The Captain, Commander, and Lieutenant Commander Tuvok had the correct command codes, but she was aware that none of the three had been involved in the original spreading of the private logs.

Oddly, she had found herself reacting to the stress in a most human way--insomnia.

Closing her eyes briefly, Seven forced herself to relax, view the situation. Someone had another copy. She had only to assure that Tom did not find this one--apparently, there must come a time when she would have to explain to him the purpose of her study. But at this fragile point in their relationship, Seven did not think it would be appropriate.

'Computer, who last entered my quarters?" Her voice shook.

There was a pause.

:::Lieutenant Thomas Paris.:::

He had seen this, then. There was no other explanation. With care, she placed the PADD back on the cushion, noting the way her fingers shook.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Paris."

:::Lieutenant Paris is in his quarters.:::

Seven touched her commbadge, then paused. As she understood Starfleet procedure, she would not have the ability to contact him. Seven slowly sat back down, then considered her next course of action.

* * * * *

Harry stood in the center of his room, briefly considering what he was thinking of doing..

His palms were sweaty. He knelt by his workstation, checking the tangle of coils, easily finding by feel his toolkit, the basic engineering model B'Elanna had left with him---years?--before. When life had been simple, when he'd been looking for the courage to ask her out on an actual date and not a get-together for dinner, when he'd watched with a sense of inevitability her eyes follow Tom with that patented B'Elanna-derision that was slowly, inexorably changing into something else.

Voyager was a state of the art ship, with great internal and external defenses. But quarters just weren't secure. Unless you went through the very long, tedious activity of completely rewiring it from ground up, as had been done for Lon Suder, there was no way to achieve perfect security. Harry picked up the laser scalpel and made a few judicious cuts--there went the alarms.

This wasn't a software issue--this was pure hardware--just move the correct connectors to the right spots, and make sure the computer wasn't aware of who the request was coming from. Or where.

And when you placed a bridge officer whose job description included the knowledge of every one of the ship's systems in custody, it had best be the Brig. Unless, of course, it was Harry Kim, who played by the rules like a good little officer, waiting for his ass to be railroaded into a twenty-five year sentence in the Brig.

That wasn't happening. The waiting, that is. If he went out, he was going in style. With charisma, as Tom might have said. With big flames, straight down, all the good stuff. Like Tom would do. Hell, like any officer worth his salt would do.

For once, he didn't wince thinking of Tom. This was for Tom--maybe he could make it up to him a little with this. Not damned much, but God, just a little, just so Tom would know Harry never, never meant to hurt him.

There was a brief pause while he took out the tricorder, checking his work. It looked fine. One final thing--and the alarms were off now, so it would be awhile before anyone found out--he unhooked the panel by his door and, using the laser scalpel, neatly severed the relays. The door chirped softly, and Harry tensed, but no one banged on the door, and Harry relaxed.

"Computer, site to site transport, authorization Psi Alpha One, to Holodeck 2. Energize."

* * * * *

Carey was more than a little startled to see Chakotay come through the door. He'd been aware the Commander was coming, but it still made him suddenly nervous, and he struggled not to jump at the sound of the loud footsteps on the floor.

"What have you found?" The Commander's voice was harsh.

Carey looked quickly down at his console.

"Two things, sir. One is a worm program--this--" he touched the controls, watching the dark haired man appear, standing still in the confines of the editing booth. "It's adding a lot of unnecessary memory. Second--I think I know why the holodeck keeps shutting down."

"Go on." Chakotay, Carey knew, was not much of a holodeck programmer.

"Yes. Well, the beach program was apparently hooked into another program to run simultaneously--which is pretty much impossible in the holodeck."

"What program?"

"It's called alphatest--it was designed by Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Paris."

Chakotay frowned.

"They are supposed to run at the same time?"

"Every time the beach program is accessed--yes, it calls on the other program to run. The holodeck is set to run the beach program every six hours, with precedence even over other running programs." Carey still marveled the complex programming that had allowed for that--usually, senior-staff level clearance codes would have to be initiated for that. But not here--just some remarkably good backdoor-system work, fooling the holodeck into thinking that this was a perfectly normal thing to do.

He had to admire the talents of the programmer.

Chakotay nodded and Carey moved his fingers rapidly, bringing up another screen.

"The problem is, I can't unhook it, Commander. Alphatest is restricted to Ensign Kim and Lieutenant Paris--and both are Bridge officers and they used some advanced encryption--I can't break the codes of a superior officer. And--well, sir, I don't want to try and do *anything* with this thing without someone who understands what the hell this is--and sir, I don't know enough about exactly how it was done to comfortably--" he trailed off, stealing a glance at the Commander's face.

Chakotay nodded slowly.

"You need Ensign Kim."

"To find out what this is and start disintegrating the link, yes, sir. Lieutenant Paris--well, he might not--" Carey stopped, flushing.

"I understand, Lieutenant. Chakotay to Ensign Jenkins."

:::Here, Commander.:::

Carey felt Chakotay's eyes on him briefly and returned his gaze to the console, then the man in the booth. He looked vaguely familiar, though Carey couldn't quite place him. It'd been a long time ago--hadn't he helped design something with this character? Damn, what had it been--an adventure program. With a hero--yes.

What the hell had that been?

"Escort Ensign Kim to the hologram lab. Chakotay out."

* * * * *

"Fucking hell!"

Harry materialized in a crouch just to the left of the center of the room--Sue had her back to him and was working the command panel on the door. She hit it with a closed fist, possibly not the brightest idea with delicate, temperamental equipment, and the holodeck, as the past had shown, was pretty darned temperamental. She was also using some of the most colorful language he'd ever heard from her.

"Computer, run--"

"Trying to play a little more with Q, Sue?" His voice sounded odd--vaguely, he wondered why.

She spun around, startled, and Harry straightened. Sue's eyes widened and she took a step back, hitting the wall of the holodeck, and Harry saw her gaze dart downward.

Shit, he was still holding the laser scalpel. Bright Harry, who forgot to drop it before beaming--though he couldn't quite deny it did give a certain sick satisfaction to see her look like that. Thanks to her--

No, he couldn't think like that. He was here to stop her--and what the hell, get some info too.

"You did it."

"Did what?" If he didn't know better, he'd think she was sincere.

"Everything. Q--you made him, didn't you? You made him--for what? To kill Tom? Or just ruin the rest of us? What the fuck were you doing, Sue? Why would you want to kill Tom?"

Sue was flat against the wall now.

"I didn't--Harry, you don't understand. I didn't do that--"

"You didn't create this?" He advanced a step, wondering suddenly how he looked to her--and wondering, with amusement, what this would look like to security if they came in right now.

"Harry--" she stopped, taking a breath, and he saw her hands were pressed against the door--inching toward the call button on the console.

"No." He didn't really remember doing it, but he found himself standing in front of the door, quickly and expertly removing the necessary relays--and a couple of others that probably shouldn't have been disturbed, but what the hell, he was on a roll. Turning, he saw she had retreated to the center of the room, staring at him.

"Harry, Carey took it out of storage--it's set to run--"

"You brought Q back. Why, so he can pick a few more of us off? B'Elanna, Tuvok, Tom--he--"

"That's not what I programmed him to do!"

For a moment, there was quiet, and he watched her sink down, knees resting on the floor. And suddenly, holding a laser scalpel on Sue just didn't seem the thing to do, and Harry let it drop, leaning back against the wall.

"I told you what I did," she whispered. "When Seven ran a program, the hologram got her codes for her logs. That's all."

"That's not all."

She shook her head.

"I programmed in some access to internal sensors, so I'd know when she entered the holodeck and could remove the program in case she got suspicious. It reported to my workstation in my room. That's all, Harry. It got the codes--"

"It started running in the beach program when I was working on the final modifications--why?"

She blinked, lowering her head briefly, dark hair obscuring her face. Her hands were clenched in her lap, and with a sinking feeling, Harry guessed why Q had so conveniently appeared.

"That was Plan B."

"Plan B?"

A pause, and she sat back on her heels, staring at the wall just behind him, eyes dark.

"When--when the PADDs didn't work. I was--when you told me that--when you said you wouldn't tell, that day in Engineering--I was--" She stuttered to a stop, taking a breath. "I shouldn't have--I worked on my hologram to appear next time you ran a program. I knew when you would go into the holodeck and I ran it--I didn't know--I set it to go off when you went in, to talk to you--"

"You told it to say it was Q?"

Sue took a deep breath.

"To scare you. To--to make you--because how the hell would a hologram know so much?" She shook her head. "So I programmed it to convince you to tell Tom about Seven's diary--I knew I didn't have much time before the wedding, that if I didn't stop it now--well, Tom would be with Seven for good and it wasn't fair, Harry! What she did to him--"

"Don't you dare start that fucking grievance list, Sue." But his voice lacked heat. "He's a holoprogram--how the hell did he get out of the holodeck? How'd you do it?"

Her face was utterly blank.

"What are you talking about?"

Harry took a breath, then another.

"Sue, that holoprogram has been following me--" he stopped, taking a breath. {A hologram that knew everything. How did it know everything, Sue?}

"A hologram can't get off the holodeck." The disbelief in her voice was annoying--what, did she think he was just pulling *that* out of thin air?

"I know that! But the bastard has been--he got to me--to B'Elanna--" he stopped before saying Seven, because he couldn't be sure, the thought had just popped up in his mind. But there it was. {Seven.}

They were silent for a moment, staring at each other, then Sue, startled, glanced around the holodeck. Harry wondered what had caught her attention--then realized that the holo-emitters had a soft glow.

"What is that?" he asked, turning in a full circle to watch each light up--holodecks didn't do that.

"The program is starting," Sue whispered, slowly rising to look around the room. "It can't load completely--some other program got hooked into it somehow. It's--

"What program?"

The room went dark.

* * * * *

:::Commander, Ensign Kim escaped from his quarters. The door has been short-circuited and upon beam-in we discovered that Ensign Kim left his commbadge in the living area::: The poor security guard sounded more embarrassed than anything--after all, this was Harry Kim--

Chakotay spun to the door. {We underestimated Harry.}

"Chakotay to Ayala." His fingers shook on his commbadge.

:::Ayala here.::: Oddly, Ayala's voice sounded strange.

"You and Dalby, keep Tom in sight at all times."

There was a pause.

:::I don't think that will be a problem.:::

Before Chakotay could begin to wonder what the hell *that* meant, Carey's voice interrupted him.

"The program is initializing, sir."

That drove every other thought from his head, and he spun to see the console begin to light up in a way that wasn't familiar. Carey's fingers were dancing rapidly over the keys, but apparently, the inevitable had begun.

"How?"

Carey looked down at the code.

"It's out of storage and the timer sets it to run." Abruptly, the hologram disappeared, and both men stared at the empty space in fascination. "It's starting to break down in Holodeck 2."

"Can you stop it?"

Carey shook his head briefly.

"Not without damage to the holodeck, sir." Carey ran his fingers over the console. "There are two life signs showing in holodeck 2, sir."

Chakotay turned slightly. A stray thought chased itself through his head.

"Is one missing a commbadge?"

Carey paused, looking at the readings.

"Yes, sir."

End Part IX

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