Chapters 11-15

Chapter 11

The Doctor told me Tom Paris had opened a bar in Marseille that, frustratingly, he named Lyon. Paris’s Lyon in Marsaille sounded stupid enough that it must’ve been intentional. He and B’elanna lived in Marseille, The Doctor said; she still worked in Starfleet, but Paris left as soon as they’d reached Earth (it was debatable if he had even been in Starfleet to begin with). Now he was more of a stay-at-home father, far from the spacecraft he so famously had flown so well that it got him out of jail.

Unlike The Doctor, both Tom and B’Elanna kept a low profile, which is why it wasn’t common knowledge that he was running a bar in the south of France. The bar itself, I quickly discovered when I visited it, was tiny; a pool table and about twenty seats, the place looked like it was never full. And Tom liked it like that.

I saw him playing cards with an elderly Frenchman at the bar. Both were drinking tea, despite it being 7p.m. local time. I’d just beamed outside and walked in, and both Tom and the man seemed surprised.

“Bienvenue mon ami, que désire-tu?" he asked me as I sat at the bar.

“Oh I’m sorry, I don’t speak French. I’d love a coffee,” I replied; it was morning Guatemala time, and I was due in the office within the hour.

Tom nodded, got to preparing it. “Doing a tour of the city?” he asked as he made the coffee.

“Not exactly.” I wasn’t nervous this time, not like I was with The Doctor. Tom had gotten a bit heavier than in his Voyager days, but he had the same boyish blue eyes and classically handsome face out of one of those twentieth-century movies I knew he was such a fan of. I knew what Tom was like, and I knew he was beloved for his rough-around-the-edges ways. But to me he wasn’t a beloved rapscallion. He was an accessory to murder.

“I’m here to see you, actually,” I said as he put the coffee in front of me. “My name is Jason Li. I’m doing some research and wanted to ask you about someone you used to know.”

“Well, I’ll try to help you if I can. Who’re you interested in?”

“Tuvix.”

Every time that man’s name got mentioned, the air got sucked out of the room. This was no exception. A long pause, then Tom quietly said:

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

“Well, he’s been dead for a long time,” I said. I knew this was a miscalculation; I’d shown him where I stood, and it was opposite of him. Tom’s back stiffened and his tone changed completely.

“Tuvok and Neelix were friends of mine, are still friends of mine,” he said. “We loved Tuvix as well, but two lives were saved the day Janeway saved them.”

“You mean, when Janeway killed Tuvix.”

“Look,” Tom said, raising his voice. He could have kicked me out of the bar, but clearly he was too angry to remember that was an option. “Janeway didn’t kill anybody. She had to choose whether to let two crewmembers die or not, and she saved them. She showed all of us that day that she would do whatever it took to keep us alive and safe--and she did that for years afterwards, doing everything she could to get us back home. I owe her my life a thousand times over, and so do Tuvok and Neelix. They don’t regret what Janeway did for a second.”

“Do they remember their time as Tuvix?”

Tom frowned. “No,” he said quietly, as if making a confession. That made the old man, who had been ignoring us, look up. I don’t know if he understood English or had a universal translator; in any case, he was invested in our conversation now. “They didn’t remember being Tuvix, we had to tell them what had happened.”

“But Tuvix could talk, feel, do things, be productive,” I said. “Sounds like he was an entirely separate person--he wasn’t Tuvok or Neelix. He was his own person. And Janeway killed--”

“Listen, buddy,” Tom said, his voice raised. “I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing here, or why you’re doing this, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“Yeah, I agree,” I said, standing up.

“But let me tell you something, buddy,” I said, mockingly. “What Janeway did that day was murder. And you were on the bridge. When Tuvix pleaded for his life, you didn’t help. Did you protest to Janeway? Did you try to stop her?”

“Get out,” Tom said.

“Just answer me!” I yelled. “Did you try?”

“GET OUT OF MY BAR!” He yelled back.

“ANSWER ME!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Okay fine I didn’t!” he yelled again, fury turning his eyes red. “I just sat there as security carried him off the bridge, is that what you want to hear?”

“Is that the truth?”

“Get out of my bar,” he said.

I turned, walked to the front door, and I was about to walk out. But then I turned around. Tom was already back to his tea and his game of cards.

How quickly he returned to his wonderful idyllic life in the French countryside--a life Tuvix never could have.

“She killed Tuvix and you’re an accessory to murder.”

I slammed the door behind me, unable to make out what Tom yelled at me as I left.

Chapter 12

That was easily the turning point, when my exploration of the Tuvix issue had gone from morbid curiosity to a crusade. This man had been murdered by a conspiracy, and another conspiracy was now keeping his murderer and the accessories to his murder from justice.

The law is very clear on murder. All Starfleet members, like all Federation citizens, are bound by the Federation Uniform Code of Justice. Article 5, section 1-3:

1. Acts of murder are to be considered a class A felony punishable by a period of incarceration up to life, regardless of the jurisdiction in which the murder was committed, wherein;

2. “Murder” is defined as the act by which the life of a sentient being, humanoid or otherwise, is intentionally brought to an end through a willful action on the part of the accused, wherein;

3. Any act of defense or self-defense that causes the ending of a sentient being’s life, in which a then-living being is at risk of death if the act is not committed, will not be considered an act of criminal murder.

The law makes it absolutely clear: if you end the life of a sentient being and it isn’t done in defense of another sentient being that is alive and at risk of being killed, you are committing murder. And Tuvok and Neelix were most definitely not alive when Tuvix was. The fact that they have no memory of the event proves it, but even if they did; Tuvix was a living entity who did not want to become Tuvok and Neelix, thereby proving he had personhood above and beyond that of Tuvok and Neelix.

Janeway brought back the dead, for sure, but she did so by killing a feeling, thinking sentient being.

So why the hell wasn’t she in jail?

To answer that question, I knew I had to talk to more Voyager crew, but I also knew my approach with Tom wasn’t going to work. Luckily, the Doctor hadn’t just told me about Tom’s bar; he’d also given me Kim’s personal com ID. This meant I could reach out to Kim and hopefully get a response, whereas if I just tried his public com I’d get lost in a stream of thousands of fanboy messages.

“Li to Kim,” I said after hitting my combadge.

“Ensign Kim here,” it spoke back. I was shocked to get someone immediately.

“Oh, hello, yes, this is Jason Li of the Earth ambassador office. I was wondering if I could speak to Captain Harry Kim.”

“Oh, sure,” the woman on the other end said. “Harry!”

A pause. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Captain Kim? My name is Jason, I work for the Ambassador of Earth’s office, and I was wondering if I could meet with you over a case I’m working on.”

“The Ambassador? Well, sure, are you in SF?”

“I’m based in Guatemala but can come by.”

“Sounds good--maybe we could meet for lunch, 1pm?”

Why do I keep running into people who want to eat lunch so late? “Yes, that’ll work.”

“Great! See you then.”

I got to San Francisco at noon and walked to the cafe: Cosimo’s. I got there a lot earlier than I expected, which gave me time to read up on my lunch date.

Kim came from an overachieving family with high expectations and impressive accomplishments; his cousin was the ensign that spoke to me on the com, indicating Kim was still close to them. Kim married shortly after returning to Earth and now had two children; he’d rapidly risen to his captain position but hadn’t taken a ship yet, saying in interviews that he wasn’t ready to go back to space. After what he went through the last time, I can’t say I blamed him.

The longer I waited, the more I got nervous. Not just because I was meeting a major celebrity who far outranks me--that was becoming a burden, a surprising one since I’d never been one to care about famous people--until, that is, I learned of Tuvix. But I’d messed up with Paris, and it was likely he would reach out to Captain Kim about my snooping, which meant this meeting could be awkward if not dangerous for me. After all, Tom and Harry had been friends for nearly 20 years, and if what Harry said in interviews was true, they kept in touch almost daily, keeping each other abreast of what was happening with their families. It was possible that Tom had called Harry to tell him about the crazy human who showed up in his bar yelling about Tuvix.

Possible, but fortunately it hadn’t happened. Or if it did, Kim hid it well.

“You must be Ensign Li,” I heard Kim say. I looked up from my padd and saw him standing there, in uniform, his four pips reflecting the lights inside the cafe.

I stood to attention. I wasn’t used to being called by my title; the diplomatic corps, of which I’d been a part of for a while, was possibly the most informal branch of Starfleet outside of engineering and shipbuilding; being stationed in a civilian office, working with the Ambassador’s civilian staff made it even more so, so that we didn’t use titles most of the time. I suppose it was a way of offsetting the much more formal tone we had to set when meeting dignitaries.

“Hello, Captain, thank you for meeting me,” I said.

“At ease,” Kim said with a smile that did indeed put me at ease. He sat down; I followed. “I suggest you get their paninis. They’re very good.”

The waiter came immediately, and I followed Kim’s suggestion: a mozzarella and beef bacon panini and pumpkin soup. Kim got a barbecue pork panini with extra fries and a Vulcan mocha, extra sweet.

“So, The Doctor told me you were doing some research on Voyager,” he said. His body language was relaxed, at ease; this was a confident captain with a lot of experience talking to nervous younger officers. It was a man with an accomplished career and nothing to prove, who did not feel threatened at all. Definitely Paris had not mentioned me to Kim. And if The Doctor had told Kim I wanted to know about Tuvix, Kim didn’t seem to care at all.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “It is something of a side project I am doing of my own accord--it isn’t officially sanctioned by the ambassador.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Kim replied, “and maybe even a little controversial.”

“That it may be,” I added, increasingly unnerved at Kim’s calm. His food and drink came, and he immediately tucked in. “I am hoping to help set precedent for future controversies following technical malfunctions happening between Federation and non-Federation citizens that, I hope, will smoothen out possible points of tension between peoples in the future.” I started to worry I was rambling; I could feel the word salad coming out of my throat like so much vomit, as if I were trying to fill time with meaningless phonemes that would stop Kim from thinking too much about what I was really interested in.

Again, if Kim took such a dim view of me, he did not show it. “Well I am always happy to help interspecies relations, especially because sometimes when there isn’t a precedent, bad things can happen.” He seemed to wince, as if a painful memory flashed into his mind.

I of course knew what it was, as it was one of the stories highlighted and detailed in the Missives. He had fallen in love with an alien that had no formal relation to the Federation (how could they?) and whose race was extremely hostile to outsiders--his logs from the incident were painful reading, extremely impassioned and a testament to Kim’s romantic spirit. It was very personal, and I wondered if publishing that was a bit embarrassing for him--or his wife.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling both guilty and grateful--guilty for misleading Kim, grateful for some sympathy in my quest. Even if the sympathy was for something I wasn’t actually trying to do.

My food arrived.

“It’s a bit awkward,” I continued, “because it’s a pretty sensitive topic. I wanted to ask you about Tuvix.”

Kim put his sandwich down, wiped his mouth, swallowed hard. A strong reaction, and it was genuine; he most definitely had not been told of what I was digging into.

“How do you know about Tuvix?”

“I found the official record in my research,” I said quickly. “It was a bit cryptic, so I asked The Doctor if he could explain it a bit. That’s when I realized it could be a case study on medical assistance given to non-Federation allies.”

Kim nodded. “I can see that,” he said slowly, so slowly I could tell he was thinking it over. He could not see that, which was fine; in all honesty, there was nothing to see. “It’s not an easy topic for us.”

He did not go back to his sandwich; nor did I mine.

“I was in sickbay after the captain got Tuvix from the bridge; when they came you could feel the tension in the room the instant they walked through the door. I knew Tuvix had hesitated to be split back into Neelix and Tuvok, but honestly in that moment I thought he had changed his mind. He didn’t say a word to any of us--he just stood there, stoically.”

“So you didn’t know he’d been forced?”

“He was with security, so I probably should’ve been more clued up,” Kim said. I was surprised at how quickly and openly he was talking about this--and with a fair amount of criticism pointed at Janeway. This was not the loyal, furious ex-crewmember Paris seemed to be. “I was a young, naive ensign back then--probably more naive than you are now.”

“Thank you, sir, “I said. “I’m probably more naive than you think I am. But when did you find out Tuvix was forced into it?”

“Maybe a couple hours later,” Kim continued. “Tuvok returned to the bridge immediately, despite Janeway’s insistence that he take some rest. Then Paris ended his shift and told me how the bridge applauded when they saw Tuvok back. Seeing the familiar Vulcan had instantly cleared the air after Tuvix had left.”

“So the bridge--”

“Tuvix was on the bridge when Janeway collected him and marched him to sickbay. Paris told me afterwards, saying that they were really upset about the whole thing. They all felt guilty, like they had killed a man.” Kim smiled, however it was tainted by a hint of melancholy. “That feeling began to fade as soon as Tuvok got back, and everyone felt like life had gotten back to normal, most of all Kes.”

Right--the Ocampan. “No one doubted Janeway?”

“No one,” Kim said, firmly. “She was the captain and she made a choice to save two lives. It was the right decision, no matter how painful that transition was.”

I noticed Kim picked up his sandwich and started eating again.

“If you don’t mind my asking, sir--”

“Not at all,” Kim said. “I honestly haven’t talked about Tuvix in over ten years, but I admit now I kinda do still miss him.”

“After Tuvok and Neelix were restored,” I said, adding in my mind, because Tuvix had been killed, “did you ever talk to them about the experience?”

“I talked to Neelix,” Harry said. “Tuvok was never too approachable, and while I respected the man, I was terrified of him, like most of the staff. But Neelix talked to anyone and everyone--a bit too much, really.”

“What did he have to say about Tuvix?”

“Neelix’s response to the whole event had three stages. At first in sickbay, he was relieved. I remember he got up, hugged Kes, and then said, ‘I thought we were dead.’ I said, ‘You don’t remember Tuvix?’ Neelix said, ‘Tuvix--what?’ Tuvok said, ‘The last thing I can remember, we were beaming back to the ship, but there was a problem with the pattern buffer.’”

“So they remembered up to beaming back to the ship--nothing after?” I interrupted.

“Exactly,” Kim said. “I was about to tell them what had happened, but The Doctor stopped me, and suggested both Neelix and Tuvok get some rest. I think the Captain had already left the room by then.”

“Why?”

“She looked really upset,” Kim said, “which was when I started to think, Tuvix didn’t want to be broken up. But I didn’t dwell on that for long, because Kes was obviously so delighted to have Neelix back--it just didn’t seem worth thinking about Tuvix anymore.”

Tuvix had been betrayed by everyone on Voyager, it seemed.

“That’s when Neelix and Kes left, I think to go to the mess hall, and I went back to my post. When Tom and I were relieved, he asked me to join him for a drink on the holodeck. So we went, and that’s when he told me about the scene with Tuvix on the bridge. He was clearly trying to get it out of his mind.”

“What did he tell you?” I asked quietly.

“Not everything,” Kim said. “Just that Janeway had come to get Tuvix, and Tuvix had refused to go. Paris kept saying, ‘it was hard to watch, but Janeway saved Tuvok and Neelix.’ He must’ve said it to me three or four times over a bottle of wine, which he pretty much polished off himself.”

“Sounds like things hadn’t really gotten back to normal for Paris.”

“Exactly,” Kim agreed. “It had been hard to watch, I’m sure--Paris told me Tuvix asked all of them to help him, and he didn’t know what to do. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ Paris said. ‘I liked the guy, but orders are orders, and it was all to save two men with friends. Tuvok has kids and a wife. Janeway saved Tuvok and Neelix.’”

“Did you ever talk to Janeway about it?”

“Yes, once--years later,” Kim said. “In her ready room, when we were facing another crisis. She confided in me that she’d made many difficult decisions on Voyager, many that still haunted her. She mentioned Tuvix.”

This surprised me--and it seemed to run counter to Paris’s mantra that Janeway unquestionably had, indeed, done the right thing.

“May I ask you what she said?”

Kim thought for a moment, but apparently decided he could share. “She told me she had made a promise to Tuvok’s family to bring him back safely, and she would do anything and everything to that end--not just for Tuvok, but for all of her crew. She really was a mother to all of us,” Kim said. “She needed me to know that she would sacrifice anything for us. And in the end, that’s what she did.”

I nodded--I knew the story, as crazy as time travel and alternative universes were, the story itself was sensational, and only served to make the mythology of Voyager even more compelling to Earth.

“There is a reason why Admiral Janeway is so, well, admired,” I said, lying through my teeth. “I imagine Voyager was the closest any ship’s crew have ever been in Starfleet.”

“Oh for sure,” Kim said. “We didn’t care who was Maquis or Starfleet a year into the journey, and by the time we got back, we didn’t even think of ourselves as a Starfleet ship. More like we were a family who all happened to be in Starfleet. I talk to my ex-crewmates every day. Tom is still my best friend.”

Fortunately, I’d been too insignificant of a story to tell Harry. Maybe Paris had a parade of maniacs show up like me? His low profile made sense.

“I absolutely see how this story could be really useful for setting a precedent for Federation law,” I said, still happily lying. “Janeway’s decision could be seen as a way to establish a ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one’ standard in delivering medical care in the field.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kim said--and why should he? I was spewing nonsense. “But a really good point. So what are you going to do next?”

A good question. Obviously my next steps were to talk to more Voyager crew. The situation was worse than I had assumed; Janeway had taken Tuvix by force, using security crewmembers to enforce an illegal order resulting in homicide. Security should have objected, but they hadn’t broken the law enforcing her order. Arguably, though, the senior staff on the bridge had broken the law by not voicing an objection--legal precedent existed for crew members to log protests before executing a captain’s illegal order (like, in this case, an actual execution). They could be charged with misdemeanor mutiny against the Federation charter--an offense carrying a possible incarceration of ninety days and a mandatory demotion of at least one rank.

Obviously, this was a pretty rarely enforced law as Starfleet captains don’t go around giving illegal orders all too often. But it was on the books, and it was a well-known rule--which suggested that the senior staff had an incentive to cover up Janeway’s crime beyond just protecting Janeway. They were protecting themselves, too.

Was that too cynical of an interpretation? After all, each of Voyager’s senior staff had, at one point or another, risked much more than a measly demotion during their time onboard. It wasn’t just offensive to suggest Starfleet crew would be so politically self-serving; it was pretty unlikely.

Not that humanity had evolved beyond such selfish motives--of course not. The so-called post-progression ideology, so popular on Earth, was one I never ascribed to. The idea that we had evolved past our barbaric history, like what caused the three world wars, was biological nonsense and easily disproved--just take a trip to Turkana IV. What really separated us from our barbaric past wasn’t some more enlightened spirit--it was the very cheap energy that gave us replicators, warp speed, and defense systems that made Earth the post-scarcity utopia humanity had been striving for for centuries, and only recently achieved. Take away our power, and we’d be as capitalist as Ferengi, as bloodthirsty as Klingons, and as duplicitous as the worst Cardassian.

I often got into heated arguments over this very topic with Lauren. She was very post-progressive, so much so that she always voted for PPG politicians and had read two of Jean-Luc Picard’s books. It was a testament to how good of a person Lauren was that she never took these arguments personally. It is not everyone who can live and sleep with someone who has the polar opposite political views as you and still get along. And yes I am boasting about myself, too--but Lauren was even more tactful than I when these topics came up. Sure, I respected her view, even if it was wrong, but sometimes the naivete that came out of her mouth was too much for me to endure. Luckily, Lauren didn’t resort to the typical accusations for us techno-relativists--she never once called me a reductivist brute or subconsciously violent, as we often are called. And for that I was grateful.

Maybe my politics are why I could care about Tuvix. But the more I uncovered the story behind this dead man’s fate, the more it seemed to confirm my own politics. Voyager, like a colony separated from the Federation, had had to conserve its resources and bend the rules. Janeway unquestionably bent the rules, deciding Tuvix’s fate and overriding his own wishes. Maybe she did it so she could have two crewmembers on a ship that couldn’t afford to have just one. Maybe she did it because of her personal friendship to Tuvok. Whatever it was, it was hard to avoid the conclusion that she had failed to transcend her own selfish desires and respect strange and new lifeforms, as we are taught to do when joining the Academy.

“Captain Kim, I have to thank you so much for visiting me. I’m sure you get a lot of calls from a lot of fans, so I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “The Doctor told me you were working on a very important project that I had to help with, and I can see he was right.” We got up, he shook my hand. “Please let me know if you need my help again.”

And with that, we left the cafe and I beamed back to Guatemala.

Chapter 13

That Friday, Tora messaged me to say she had to cancel our trip to Andorra, as they were working overtime on an experiment. The timing was a bit too fitting, coming just days after Lauren’s blowup at me. Lauren and Tora had spent quite a bit of time at the party alone together--maybe Tora got the sense that Lauren felt threatened? Or maybe Lauren dropped the hint that Tora had been using up a lot of my time?

No matter what had happened, I was honestly relieved. Tora had served her purpose; I’d gotten to The Doctor, I’d gotten the next steps, and now if I needed to talk to The Doctor again, I was certain he would take my calls. Great--progress was made.

Lauren was delighted that I had the entire weekend with her, and at the time I thought our relationship was saved. We spent the weekend at a holocenter in Guatemala City, enacting a modified version of Kahless and Lukara at Qam-Chee, but modified the program to look like an ancient Greek battle. This way we compromised between my own interests in Earth history and Lauren’s interest in Klingon culture.

It was the first weekend since I’d started developing my case against Janeway that I really enjoyed myself. The entire time I didn’t think about Tuvix once, and my love for Lauren just felt all the stronger. And I could tell she, too, loved me more, understanding now that I wasn’t drifting away from her and towards a gorgeous Bajoran; I only had eyes for her.

Well, if we’re talking about romance, that is.

The weekend passed, and then it was time to go back to work.

Shortly after I woke up on Monday and told the coffee machine to prepare me a latte, I got a call from Patrick. He did not usually call me before I showed up to work--and it was indeed thirty minutes before my shift started, so this call definitely caught me off guard.

What he said caught me off guard even more.

"I've got good news and bad news. The good news is you're being promoted, Lieutenant."

I was stunned. My work lately has been the kind of easy work most unambitious people choose, wineing and dining guests and going to parties. The harder work of refugee resettlements is what gets you promotions, but giving a young scientist tours of Europe? This is the kind of work that makes 50 year-old ensigns, not 25 year-old lieutenants.

"I have to admit I'm surprised," I said. "I didn't think my work was worth a promotion."

"Well, it isn't," Patrick said matter-of-factly, and it stung to hear him say that even if I knew it were true. I didn't have much time to wallow in self pity, because he continued. "It's more of a consolation prize for the bad news: you're getting reassigned."

That sounded not good. "To where?"

"The USS Xinjiang."

I did not know the ship, but the name stung. To hear the place where my ancestors were nearly made extinct in the Slow Genocide of the 21st Century was jarring, to say the least. My family had taught us well of the millions who died there.

"It's a humanitarian mission, part of one of the armadas to the Romulan Neutral Zone. You'll be helping to process refugee requests."

That made sense.

That also made my life a lot more complicated. As far as I knew, no one from Voyager was assigned on the Romulan front or even nearby, and the assignment meant I’d be far from any Voyager crew for months, if not a year (I didn’t know if these were emergency orders; if they weren’t, it’d mean I could demand a transfer back to Earth in six months--then I could get back to the business of setting things right for Tuvix).

Then there was Lauren; she knew Starfleet officers are reassigned all the time, and after the nova in the Romulan empire, the chances of a legal clerk being assigned offworld skyrocketed. It was something I dreaded; I’d joined Starfleet because it was the greatest force for justice in the known galaxy, but I did not want to leave Earth. I’d been to the Moon a few times as a kid on vacation; I did not like space. And so I had always considered the risk of being assigned offworld as low, and told Lauren as much when we started dating.

But I was naive. Maybe Captain Kim was right.

In the last few months, growing refugee requests from the Romulan empire had hit the Federation, and now it was estimated that up to 70 billion of the 100 billion humanoids of the empire who survived the nova might ask for refugee status. The empire was in tatters, its government gone, and warlords cropping up to hoard resources. With trade routes unprotected, it was harder to ensure everyone had access to the energy and technology needed to maintain life throughout the empire.

The Federation had been helping to provide supplies, but it just wasn’t enough. Multiple civil wars were inevitable, the Tal Shiar was already declaring itself the legitimate government--and planning an even more totalitarian regime than even Romulans would tolerate. With warlords equally interested in power ready to fight the Tal Shiar into extinction, ordinary Romulans were caught in the crosshairs.

This had put a lot of pressure on the Vulcans, who themselves had put pressure on the Federation. 70 billion refugees was more than the Federation could handle, of course; that was almost as much as the population of the Federation already. But we were living in a time of peace thanks to our win over the Dominion and friendly relations with the Cardassians, which meant there was a lot of space and resources the Federation could use to slow the gush of refugees into the Federation while also providing technological support when it could.

But the administrative hurdles here were enormous; there were still millions of refugees who needed to be admitted into the Federation immediately, as they lived on battlefronts amongst the skirmishes the warlords were indulging in. They did not care if civilians were hurt, and some were slowly beginning to realize enslaving and ransoming those civilians could become a lucrative business.

With a new crime syndicate that made Orions look quaint bubbling to the surface, the Federation had decided to step in more aggressively, get as many Romulan refugees into the Federation as quickly as possible, and train the ablest of them to fight the warlords. With any luck, these refugee-turned-militias could both contain the warlords and stay out of the Federation’s territory.

Public opinion on the move was all over the place. This transcended party politics, with many worried about being overrun by Romulans, and many more arguing that this was a test to Federation ideals that we could not afford to fail.

I was in the latter camp, which is why I was not as upset about the assignment as I’d thought.

Still, Lauren would be upset--we had been together nearly a year at this point, and we hadn’t been apart for all that time, except my trips to Europe. Six months apart breaks relationships--and this could easily break things with Lauren.

All of this ran through my brain in a blur after Patrick told me the news. Then I snapped out of it and replied back: “Understood, sir. I can come to the office early.”

“Good idea, Jason,” he replied. “You’ll need to be orientated by the liaison office, then you’ll be sent on your way.”

I grabbed my coffee, took a sip. “Thanks, Patrick, it’s been an honor and a pleasure working with you.”

He laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a non-emergency posting.” Good, six months and I can get back. I suddenly felt my shoulder drop; I hadn’t realized how the news had made my entire body tense up. “If you want to come back when it’s over, I’ll save your desk for you.”

“Like I said, it’s been a pleasure.”

We said our goodbyes and I finished my coffee before the official transfer notice showed up on my LCARS screen.

NOTIFICATION OF TRANSFER

TO: JASON LI, LIEUTENANT

SERIAL NUMBER: 5513255X88

Jason Li is to report immediately to Lieutenant Commander Velrik for orientation on new assignment to the USS Xinjiang, Captain Andrew Gaberman. Reporting to Lieutenant Mark Price, Esquire.

Primary duties: Refugee application processing.

END OF NOTIFICATION

So that was it. I did not know Mark Price--apparently a lawyer. I recognized Gaberman, though, even if I’d never met him before.

In one of his interviews to the Federation News Network, Captain Kim told the story of how he first met Tom Paris at Deep Space Nine, saying that he’d almost got duped by a Ferengi who’d been offended because Gaberman, a classmate, had warned Kim to not trust Ferengis.

To make sure my memory wasn’t playing tricks on me, I did a quick personnel search and found that, indeed, Kim and Gaberman both graduated in 2371. And both had been staff of the student newspaper.

When I realized I hadn’t dreamed up the connection, I felt a tingling on the tips of my fingers and in my feet. It took me a while to realize I was hyperventilating.

To this day, I have no evidence that Kim got me transferred. And to be honest, I lean towards it just being a wild coincidence. Kim didn’t seem bothered by me at all, and getting a friend on the front lines to take a random ensign would be hard to do, captain’s privilege or none. But the coincidence felt...meaningful.

Now I know that coincidence was what helped me get closer to bringing Janeway to justice for her crimes, but at the time I saw it as the exact opposite: I was going to the front lines of a very important humanitarian mission where I could help get justice for many living beings, a more noble cause than getting justice for one dead man.

So I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders, and the hyperventilating vanished. In its place, tranquility. I saw this as an opportunity for me to give up on Tuvix. I could focus instead on the Romulans in need, on protecting the Federation and, more importantly, protecting the Federation’s ideals from humanity’s darker instincts. It was a noble use of a life--and after six months I could come back to Lauren’s loving arms, if she truly did love me and could wait for me.

Everything’s fine. Everything was going to be fine.

Chapter 14

Lieutenant Commander Velrik was a young-looking vulcan who acted like a vulcan. He saluted me with a neutral face after I reported for duty, and sat me down in a conference room with a dozen other lieutenants. We were in the security wing of Starfleet HQ, where I’d never been allowed to go before; I was a bit disappointed to see that it seemed largely made up of conference rooms.

He then opened up a holographic display and began telling us of our mission. On it I saw the thousands of stars that made up the neutral zone with the Romulan empire; that region was helpfully shaded in a light violet. Small insignia for the Federation’s ships were dotted across--and, shockingly, inside--that region.

I’d known it intellectually before, but seeing it on a map like this in front of me in a formal orientation meeting really made me accept the truth: the Romulan empire really was dead, and the Federation was in the neutral zone for the first time ever.

“Your ship is part of the Omicron Armada in Section 27-J of the Neutral Zone,” Velrik said, and the computer highlighted and zoomed into that area in response. I could see about 20 Federation insignia--as well as red “X’s” over several star systems nearby. “Omicron Armada consists of three flanks: yours is the final flank, offering support services. The first flank serves to defend you and the second flank, who is in charge of transporting asylum seekers. You will likely not see combat. The region has had no battles for over three months, so it is likely that you won’t see any battles during your time.”

“Are they hoping to keep us for more than six months?” I asked, knowing full well this made me look like a slacker. I was pretty sure I heard a snicker in the room, but I couldn’t see where it originated.

The look on Velrik’s face seemed to answer my thoughts: yes, you are clearly indeed a slacker. “No, all law clerks are expected to return after six months, as the hours will be prolonged. You will have 6 12-hour work shifts per week, with all ships' internal chronometers set to Earth days.”

Half of my day at work, and just one day a week off? A bit harsh even for emergency conditions, which told me things were bad. “Understood, sir.”

“Your primary duties will be twofold. First, you will review interview footage and application requests from refugee camps currently residing on Epsilon Legato III, IV, and V.”

“There are three Class M planets there?” another lieutenant, a young human man, asked. I didn’t recognize him.

“Yes, fortunately,” Velrik said. “Currently 800 million refugees are awaiting a response from the Federation.”

My eyes bulged. “800 million?” a Trill lieutenant asked.

“At Epsilon Legato,” he continued, implying that there were many more elsewhere--I’d rather not know about that, so I didn’t ask. I could only thank the stars I’d been born a human on Earth. “Our target is to process 600 million applications in the next six months, with 200 million already processed.”

“How many clerks are on this project?” the Trill followed up.

“6,273, leaving 95,648 refugees to be inspected per clerk, or 620 per day, or 51.67 per hour,” he continued. “If current processing averages of 63 per hour are maintained, we will finish this project early.” The way he stressed “early” made me think he did not expect me to be up to the task. And, to be honest, after spending two months of my career doing little of importance, I agreed with him.

“You will all be reporting to Lieutenant Mark Price,” Velrik replied. “He will be your immediate superior officer. A weekly debriefing of your progress is expected by each Friday, with times detailed on each of your padds and set by the ship’s internal chronometer.”

Was he patronizing us? What other clock would we--well, this is why so few vulcans have friends.

Velrik rose, we followed.

“Acknowledged, sir!” we said in unison.

“Dismissed.”

I looked at my padd and saw that I would be joining the USS Endeavor, where I’d meet up with other support staff who were going with me to the Xinjiang.

I also saw that Endeavor was a Galaxy class ship--at least I can enjoy the couple days I’ll have in transit.

On my way out of the room, Velrik stopped me.

“Do not forget this, lieutenant,” he said, handing me a small box. It was my pip. I’d almost forgotten that I hadn’t gotten it yet. Not much of a ceremony for me; that was probably for the best.

Chapter 15

“I just want you to know, I’m going to stay faithful to you and I love you.”

The sudden urge to run to the bathroom disappeared--I was still lightheaded, but hearing those words was an instant relief. I knew then that I truly loved Lauren, that she was far too good of a lover than I deserved, and that I owed it to her to be dedicated to her.

I’d dreaded coming back from HQ, which is why I took the shuttle instead of beaming back. I spent the hour preparing myself for her to say she couldn’t wait six months for me--my pessimism was paid off handsomely with relief.

I didn’t tell her I’d expected her to dump me--instead I grabbed and kissed her. “Thank you,” I whispered into her ear, surprised that I was near tears. So I hugged her again, hoping the pressure of her body against mine would keep them from coming out.

It worked. Then she looked me in the eyes again and said, “I will write to you everyday. You don’t need to write back; I guess you’ll have 10-hour shifts?”

“12,” I said immediately. “And six-day weeks.”

“Wow,” she said, her mouth briefly stuck in a perfect “O” shape. “That is unusual, isn’t it?”

“Starfleet regulations allow for up to 15-hour shifts for humans in wartime, 14 in peacetime. But 12 hasn’t been used since the Dominion War, as far as I’ve been told.”

“What’s the reason?”

I hadn’t been told the reason was secret, so I told her. “Asylum seekers. Romulan space is falling apart and there are billions who either need Federation protection now or need to be armed to protect themselves from the chaos out there. Our armada is supposed to clear 800 million applications before I get back.”

“That’s a ridiculous amount of people,” Lauren said. “That’s almost as much as the population of the Americas.”

I nodded. “It’s more than 10% of Federation member worlds.”

“I am proud of you,” she said. “You’re really doing something important for the Federation--and for Earth.”

I was genuinely touched to hear her say that. And it made me think that maybe my lifelong goal of seeking justice and making the galaxy a more righteous place didn’t need to hinge on righting the death of a man who had died years ago. It was like Tuvix, which had grown to admittedly become an obsession of mine, was fading from view. For months now I had spent hours reading every bit I could about Voyager, about criminal precedent in transporter accidents, about Janeway herself. And all of a sudden, with the thought of helping millions if not billions of Romulans, it all seemed just not worth the energy.

“Just one more thing, Lauren.” She looked at me, puzzled. “What’s our policy on cheating and holograms?”

She threw a pillow at me. I deserved it.