Chapters 36-40

Chapter 36

The cool air outside was a relieving respite from the hot blacksmith’s shop, and as I stepped outside I heard the old man begin clanging away behind me. Per his request I left the door slightly ajar, and began to make my way back towards the Wildmans. I passed by a small inn, and through an open window I could hear musicians practicing--it sounded like two stringed instruments and a singer, a woman. I was startled to hear she was singing in English.

She had a penknife long and sharp

Weela Weela Walya

She had a penknife long and sharp

Down by the river Saile.

I did not stay to listen, though I did wonder if they were practicing for human tourists? I was not staying here tonight, so it was not for me, but perhaps other humans were coming later that day.

So as not to get too out of breath, I took the walk uphill slowly now, still warmed by the tea and the fire. It was now mid-morning and the sun, however distant and red in the sky, began to warm the air so that I could no longer see clouds of mist every time I exhaled.

It felt like no time at all until I was back at the aquamarine house, and I was now fully prepared for what was to come. Whether the Wildmans would side with me or not was in the air, and I was not foolish enough to be hopeful, but at the very least I was prepared for the encounter. I was calm.

I knocked on the front door with the iron knocker affixed to it, wondering if the old man had made it. I waited twenty seconds and got no response.

I tried again. Another twenty seconds, no response.

Were they not home? It was possible--I had no idea what lifestyle these two women led. I didn’t even know if Naomi still lived here; she was now 18, old enough to leave home by Ktarian or human standards, though not old enough where it was expected. Was Samantha reunited with her husband, or had she remarried? And would her husband not take kindly to a strange human coming and asking about a former shipmate who had died years ago?

I had tried to prepare myself for all of these eventualities, but anxiety would override my plans every time I returned to these thoughts. And yet now, faced with the looming encounter, I was no longer anxious. I wasn’t even worried. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and while I’d do my best for Tuvix, I had to assume failure.

A good minute waiting at the front door, and I decided no one was going to answer me. So I walked around the house to the backyard, which I saw was a fenced off vegetable patch, separate from the moba fields. I recognized some of the plants: there was Asian eggplant, and holy basil, and even a chestnut tree, already a good 10 meters tall. Ktarian soil was known for accelerating plant maturation, just as the air quickly matured the Ktarians themselves.

At the foot of the tree was Samantha Wildman, a trowel in hand as she was digging up weeds.

She did not hear me approach.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said in a voice loud enough to get her attention but quiet enough not to startle her.

It worked. She turned around, looked up at me. “Hello?”

“I am very sorry to bother you,” I replied. “But I have come all this way to Ktaris just to speak with you, and I was hoping you could give me a few minutes of your time.”

“Well, I suppose so,” she said, turning around to face me. “What is this about?”

“My name is Jason Li and I want to talk to you about Neelix.”

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Chakotay told me all about you. I’m not interested.” She turned around and went back to her weeding.

“Please,” I pleaded, coming closer and squatting near her. “All I ask is you hear me out. I promise you I am not a madman.”

“Madman or no, I have no interest in testifying that Janeway is a murderer. It’s a ridiculous thought!”

“That isn’t what I want,” I lied. “I want to know more about Tuvix.”

She sighed. “It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all.”

“Did you work with him?”

“With who?”

“Tuvix.”

“Yes, I did, quite often. He was amazing.”

“How so?”

“He had Neelix’s sense of humor and Tuvok’s discipline,” Sam said, briefly smiling with the kind of memory that brings back both happiness for having had the experience and pain at having lost it. “I remember his food the most--it was delicious.”

“It seems you have fond memories of him,” I said. “Isn’t that reason enough to try to get him justice?”

“Justice? There’s no need for justice at all,” she said quickly. “Yes I heard he was scared at being brought back to normal, but then Neelix and Tuvok were back with us.”

“But let me just ask you this, if you don’t mind,” I said gently. “And I’m sorry, please don’t think I’m trying to offend you, I am just trying to understand this--for my own sanity.”

She sighed. “Go ahead.”

“You seem to say he had the best of both worlds, in a way.”

“Sure, in a way he did.”

“Would you say you liked Tuvix better than Neelix and Tuvok?”

She laughed. “Absolutely not!”

Her laughter was loud and completely uncontrolled, as if I’d told her the funniest joke in the world. The response surprised me; I fully expected disagreement, but this was outside of normal parameters.

“Why not?”

“I loved Neelix,” she said sharply. “Loved the man. No one in the alpha quadrant knows how good of a man he was. I have never met anyone as purely good as Neelix.” This caught me by surprise. “Neelix took care of every single person on that ship, and he did it because he wanted to. In Starfleet you take care of your colleagues because there’s a symbiosis; you make sure they don’t die, they make sure you don’t die. It’s a harrowing job full of risks. And even if you don’t like your coworker, you’ll still jump in front of a phaser to make sure they live--and you expect them to do the same for you. If you betray that social contract, you’re worse than a Klingon without honor--you’re a devolved human.”

I was startled, but said nothing.

“Neelix wasn’t like us, all he ever wanted was to be a part of the Voyager family. He was the first one on the ship that realized we were a family--and he did everything he could to keep us together. That’s why, when Naomi was born, he immediately made it his top priority that Naomi would have a happy childhood. And you don’t know what that means to me,” she said, her eyes watering. “Do you know what it was like to suddenly raise a child on a starship, 70,000 light years from home?”

I immediately sat on the ground and hugged her. It was an instinct--and as I did so she started crying even harder.

“I wanted to be a good mother to Naomi, she deserved it,” Sam said, still crying. “But how could I be a good mother when my daughter wouldn’t even see real blue skies? Oh, I was so scared.”

I still said nothing.

“And Neelix, Neelix was there,” she said, the crying now subsided and I gently let her go. “He was always there, even when he died, he was still there.”

I knew what she was talking about--the time Seven of Nine saved his life with nanoprobes.

“Well, that makes sense, after he was revived--”

“You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “Neelix was dead for almost a full day, one of the longest periods in Federation history--and definitely longer than any Talaxian. Neelix was a deeply religious man, his people had a belief in the Great Forest--he used to tell Naomi these stories all the time. It was their afterlife, and it was something he clung onto. He needed his faith, he needed to believe his sister was in a better place. And then when he woke up, he remembered nothing. There was no Great Forest, no Guiding Tree. No reunion with his beloved sister.” She looked straight at me--straight past me, really. “Can you imagine what that must have been like? He cared for all of us because he couldn’t care for his sister, and now he knew, absolutely knew, he would never see her again. And she was gone. Forever.”

I looked down at my hands, ashamed.

“He didn’t get angry, he didn’t resent us, he didn’t leave. And he didn’t stop telling Naomi about the Great Forest.”

I suddenly heard birds singing in the background.

“Why do you think I left Starfleet and moved here?” Here, of course, being a farmhouse in the middle of a forest.

I nodded.

“Naomi is going off to Starfleet next year--she and her stepfather are in Kerrik preparing a celebration. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get my gardening done so I can see my daughter off tonight.”

Again, I nodded, and wordlessly got up to my feet. As I walked away, I felt ashamed, deeply ashamed at having disturbed Samantha Wildman.

Chapter 37

I was at the end of my quest, it was obvious. No one on Voyager felt Tuvix had been murdered, and if they did, they lived in denial or fought their inner sense of justice, letting loyalty win.

In some cases, like Chakotay, I could blame a sociopathic disregard for the sanctity of life. But in other cases, like with Ms. Wildman, it was blameless--motivated purely by love.

The flight home was a quiet one for me. I did not study my flowcharts, I did not outline new strategies to fight for Tuvix, I did not think of who I could interview next.

I thought mostly of my father and mother.

It was for this reason that I did something that I hadn’t done for a while. I opened up my padd and checked my personal messages.

What I saw horrified me. There were 2,174 unread messages spanning 18 months.

I nearly dropped the padd onto the floor. How was this possible? Eighteen months of not checking my messages? I know it had been a while, but--

I frantically started scrolling. There were messages from Trevor, my mother, my sister, and Lauren. There were messages two years ago from Tora--Tora! I had completely forgotten about her. They all wrote subjects like “where are you?” and “why haven’t I heard from you?” Lauren’s last, from October 23rd, was titled: “Goodbye.”

Jason, I want you to know that I will always think of you as my love. You are the love I lost, and I don’t even know how or why it happened. For the last year you have been like a ghost, distant when we are together, and we are barely together because you’re always away doing something or the other. Ever since you got back from the neutral zone I thought you were shell shocked, and I wanted to stay and support you. But you haven’t spoken to me in days, and you hardly seem to notice if I’m at home or not. And so I need to seek a new life with someone who can love me as much as I love them. Whatever you are going through and however you are feeling, I hope you find peace one day.

Love, Lauren

The letter was nearly a month old and was written over two weeks before I left Earth for Ktaris. That meant I’d spent a fortnight at home, alone, without noticing Lauren had left. How was that possible? Surely that wasn’t possible, surely my padd had been hacked or this was a trick, or something--

When I got home, I saw something I had not seen before, but which surely had been there for a long time. Layers of filth and mess had accumulated, in the living room, in the bedroom, in the study. Between layers of clothing and replicated food trays and dishes were itinerant spiders and other bugs native to Guatemala, requiring an extermination sweep after I’d recycled old uniforms, suits, and other clothing items I’d replicated but for some reason not recycled.

Not some reason. I knew the reason. I’d been too preoccupied with my work.

The time spent bringing Janeway to justice had meant time not spent on cleaning the house, watching holonovels or, for that matter, sleeping. And it had also meant time both not giving Lauren attention and not realizing she had given up on me.

And now I was alone with my plans to get Janeway.

This was the moment when I realized just how much I had sacrificed for justice. I went back to my padd, looked through my messages--there were messages of worry and fear from my mother, pleading from my father, and increasingly frantic questions of my whereabouts from friends. At the start of this period of missed messages were several invitations to parties, casual dinners, get-togethers with friends. Friends from school, friends from Kuala Lumpur, friends from the academy, the law society, the diplomatic corps. People and connections I’d picked up along the way.

The invitations faded over a couple of months, and by a year ago they had disappeared. Messages from friends, going from friendly invites to increasingly worried queries as to my whereabouts, faded to silence. Then it was just Lauren and my family; then it was just my family, until Lauren’s goodbye message.

The connections were severed.

It was the weekend, so I could not go to work to distract myself from this loss. Instead I stayed at home, on my couch, and looked out at the lake.

I thought of the Great Forest, and I thought of Neelix dreaming of it every night on Voyager. I thought of him seeing his sister, running to hug her after years of being apart--her frozen in time by death, still young and beautiful, smiling as he embraced her, happy to be a part of his orbit once more.

And I saw Tuvok there, stoically standing beside the Guiding Tree, looking very much like a guide himself. Yet his stiff upper lip clearly softened as he nodded towards Neelix.

There were Tom and Harry, laughing and embracing Neelix, patting him on the back and welcoming him to the Great Forest where they had been waiting for him.

And there was Samantha and Naomi, the girl running up to him and hugging his legs tightly, as if scared he would disappear again if she let him go.

I was suddenly in a cold sweat and a panic, not knowing why. “Computer, hot toddy,” I said immediately, cupping the drink in my hands carefully and sipping, as I did the blacksmith’s tea just a few days ago. I looked into the amber liquid and let the hints of cinnamon tickle my nose, and I closed my eyes and desperately tried to remember what the blacksmith’s fire on my cheek felt like.

I took three days off of work and stayed at home, rudderless and afraid. Family is family and I knew they would quickly forgive my absence, perhaps even fret over where I had been for so long. And my friends? Some, like Trevor, may simply pick up where we left off, but others might be too offended at my prolonged absence. I had been a cur, ignoring their messages--not just ignoring. Forgetting people sent me messages at all.

I had been wrapped up in an obsession that had caused a lot of people a lot of hurt. I knew with no doubt in my mind that I had ruined what was supposed to be a wonderful day for Sam--the day she would see her daughter off to the Academy, when Naomi could spend an evening in the Great Forest with her Ktarian friends. Maybe some of Voyager’s crew had gone to visit as well--maybe that’s what the English-language singing was all about.

And my friends on Earth saw me disappear even as I gained notoriety and fame. Did they think I had abandoned them to hobnob with the upper crust? Did they feel insulted--and if they did, would they be able to forgive me? Would they believe me if I said, no, it was not my fame and my promotions that made me lose touch, it was my obsession with a dead half-Talaxian half-Vulcan you have never heard of and who died 70,000 light years away when I was a child? Who would believe such an absurd story?

But it was true, it was all true. I had done it to honor the principles of the Federation, which state above all else that life is priceless, and unique life even more so. I had done it so that a future Tuvix would not be callously murdered by a captain driven by wonton, arbitrary emotions. I did it so that all improper and questionable decisions made in the field would be properly analyzed and investigated by an impartial third party.

Suddenly a rage consumed me, and I threw my hot toddy to the wall, the glass shattering on impact. This wasn’t my fault. It was Starfleet’s fault.

It was Janeway’s fault.

And if I let her get away, all of this would have been for nothing. How could I let this monster ruin my life, all because I was upholding the values of the Federation?

“Computer, are there any public functions scheduled that Admiral Katheryn Janeway will be attending?”

Chapter 38

The Interstellar Congress for Planetary Defense was a transunion partnership that had formed after the attack on Wolf 359. Their stated charter was to “openly share technological and strategic progress in the better securing of civilian worlds from interplanetary attacks from technologically advanced and unknown species.” It was the first of its kind in having as members the Federation, the Romulans, the Klingons, the Orions, and the Ferengi. Several other non-Federation members were a part of it too, as the alpha and beta quadrants saw the urgent need to protect civilian populations from the Borg threat.

The ICPD was rightly credited for saving billions of lives in the Dominion War, as planetary defense systems had been improved by the first couple of years of developments that the ICPD shared amongst its members. That, some say, also helped create unions to fight the Dominion that otherwise would not have happened, which in turn meant there was more diplomatic enthusiasm behind the ICPD as a way of creating closer and longer lasting alliances in the alpha and beta quadrants than ever before.

But ICPD stuck very closely to its focus on technology, asserting it was an apolitical institution. That was not a controversial viewpoint, as just about everyone agreed that inserting politics into the ICPD would likely cause it to fall apart.

Thus ICPD’s meetings were popular among scientists and the general public, which meant their public conferences tended to be full of presentations from attention-seeking admirals presenting on the research conducted by more introverted scientists, who were happy to stay behind the scenes.

The ICPD’s 2391 Conference was at Starfleet Headquarters, the first Earth conference in nearly a decade, and it was given a German Christmas Market theme, since it was held in December. This meant an unusually popular crowd--a group of well connected people in the audience, and easily a hundred million watching the simulcast on Earth alone.

Erit of course was an invitee, and when I asked to join he ensured that I got a ticket as well. I had a standing area ticket (even Erit wasn’t high enough to get me a chair), meaning I’d be in the back of the room. But that was fine.

It didn’t matter. All that mattered is that I would be there, and so would Janeway.

The event itself surprised me. Being held just outside of Headquarters in the public side of the building, it was relatively open, with just a cadre of ticket-checkers at a makeshift turnstile set to the side of the large lawn, where white chairs had been set up facing a large stage where the panel would sit. When they checked my ticket, they did not scan me for weapons, which felt rather odd. This was a close-knit crowd of higher ups indeed; my collar had the least pips in the crowd.

When I got to the back of the lawn and stood behind the many rows of chairs, I looked up at the empty stage and did not blink. I could wait; I had been waiting for years.

Finally, this would all be over.

About fifteen minutes later, the panel all walked onto the stage to a loud applause. Unsurprisingly, they were all admirals save for one chief of research, who was himself a commander. However, he’d won the nobel prize for his theories on disrupting Borg shield adaptations, so his relatively low rank hardly put him beneath the others on the panel, even if he technically needed to address them all as “sir.”

The host was Captain Robert DeSoto, and although he had top billing for the conference, the crowd’s enthusiasm when he appeared was fierce. They leapt to their feet to give him a standing ovation as he approached the microphone. Known as one of the friendliest and most accomplished captains of Starfleet, he had refused promotions more times than anyone else in history to keep his chair onboard a starship. He was not often at public events like this, which made his appearance an even greater treat. I admit that even I was moved to see the man.

“Greetings, and thank you to all,” he said. “It has been 26 years since Q forced our introduction to the greatest threat to the alpha and beta quadrants, the Borg. And while at first many on Earth were furious at this cruel introduction to a cruel species, we have come to be grateful. The Romulans, of course, had begun to brush up against this real threat to all of us, and if Q had not made it a central concern, the Borg may have successfully assimilated the Romulan Star Empire, the Federation, and everyone watching this today.” I noted the diplomatic tactic of referring to the Empire as if it were still standing; DeSoto was a master.

“We should consider Q’s gift an important lesson: sometimes we must face difficulties and make sacrifices to protect what we value the most. And that is what the ICPD is all about--giving us the tools that we can use to protect ourselves and the things we love.”

Applause. It was a moving speech; I clapped as well.

“Today our panel is going to introduce us to some of the innovations that the ICPD’s members have worked on, and how all of our governments can use those innovations to protect us from the many threats out there in the galaxy. I think you all will be impressed at what our scientists have done--and how fruitful it can be when we work together, as friends and allies.” More applause. I was surprised; a few of the species in the ICPD were quite xenophobic, so this appeal to interspecies cooperation seemed a bit daring. But I doubt many would be offended, even among those xenophobic worlds.

“First I would like to introduce Fleet Admiral Kregh of Klingon, House of Dragh of the Klingon High Council.”

Polite applause as the Klingon thanked DeSoto. His booming voice did not startle anyone in the audience; the ICPD was a group that made everyone feel safe and at ease.

Kregh spoke for thirty minutes, as did the Vulcan admiral who followed him. And then, DeSoto announced the third speaker.

“Next we will hear from an admiral that needs no introduction--someone who has done more to protect us from the threat of the Borg than anyone ever has. Few have beamed aboard a Borg Cube and lived to tell the tale; well, my next guest has been on several. Not just that, she has severed many Borg from the collective, and her crew’s work with the Borg has helped us save many ex-Borg lives here at home. Over the years she has continued her work on developing Borg defenses here on Earth, and I cannot help but wonder if, possibly, she has saved more lives than any other living being in the galaxy. Please, ma’am, we all eagerly await your words of wisdom!”

Unlike the other speakers, Janeway did not give her presentation seated at the table. Instead she stood up (and, as she did, so did everyone else seated), and as a roar of applause and cheers came from the crowd she walked over to the microphone stand at the center of the stage, which made itself a bit shorter to adjust to her height as she neared it. Everyone was clapping as viciously as they could, as if they were masochists trying to inflict pain on themselves.

I was likely the only one in the crowd who did not clap.

The applause did not stop as she motioned for the crowd to be seated--they loved her that much. She waved everyone down again with her right hand, and finally did everyone sit down.

I got a good look at her. She hadn’t changed much since her Voyager days--at least not how I could tell from this distance.

She still had the near shoulder-length bob cut, with the light brown hairs curling inwards to frame her stern face with its strong chin. Even at this distance her blue eyes seemed to pierce through to the crowd as she looked around the room. And as if she knew why I was there, she did not once make eye contact with me.

“Greetings, everyone,” she said as the crowd began to quiet down. As she spoke they finally took their seats.

“Today, I have an exciting project to talk to you about,” she said immediately, “a project that my team has been working on for over five years, and that we are finally ready to begin implementing. Welcome to Project Blue Skies!”

As she said that a screen behind her lit up with schematics for what looked like a satellite system.

“In cooperation with a team at the Klingon Science Council and Qo’noS University, we have developed the PWPDS--the pre-warp planetary defense system.”

The graphic on the screen zoomed into the planet, showing an iron age civilization from cloud-level.

“The PWPDS works on the simple premise that we can protect pre-warp civilizations without them knowing we are protecting them--and at a distance that, in their pre-warp spacefaring stage--they will still not know we are there. Combining Klingon cloaking technology with a multiphasic adaptive shield system, the PWPDS uses an array of satellites stationed along the orbital plane of a system’s outermost planet to patrol and combat any Borg vessels or weaponry that may begin to approach the system.” At this point the graphic zoomed out to beyond the planet’s atmosphere and outward past several planets, until the solar system’s star was a distant speck. We saw the opaque outline of a dozen small satellites, indicating they were cloaked and thus invisible. “Powered by the energy from the system’s star at this distance, the satellites are equipped with phasers in addition to the cloak, as well as a navigation system to keep it on track and a subspace beacon to stay in constant contact. The satellites can be programmed to transmit to all members of the ICPD or just the group that launches the satellites to the system, ensuring maximum privacy and control of territory.”

The audience was aweing as she spoke, and I could not blame them. It was an impressive project.

She continued to outline the building process, estimated costs in resources and manhours, and the Federation’s and Klingons’ commitment to produce satellites for fifty systems over the next year.

“So, are there any questions from the audience?”

Finally, it was time.

Chapter 39

I raised my hand immediately, but so did several others in the crowd, and someone sitting in the middle of the audience was called on first. She asked some question about sharing cloaking technology. I ignored it.

Another audience member asked another question, this one more technical about the weapons systems on the satellites. Again I ignored.

Two more people got questions called, even as I kept my hand up the entire time. I was anxious and terrified at first, but now I was just annoyed.

“And one last question, from--you,” DeSoto said, pointing to a Tellarite near the front of the crowd.

Unacceptable.

“Yeah, I have a question!” I yelled, stepping forward into the aisle so she could see me better. She looked straight at me (so, too, did just about everyone there). “Why aren’t you in jail for murder?”

“What?” she said, half-laughing as she said it in stunned surprise.

“You killed Tuvix!” I screamed.

“Oh, shut the fuck up you fucking idiot!” I heard Fleet Admiral Kirsten Clancy yell from her seat onstage.

“You killed him!” I repeated. “He was a sentient being, fully alive and aware and able to speak and do things--he was a living being just as alive and as entitled to life as any of us! But there was just one problem, if he lived that meant two of Janeway’s crew could not live, although they were already dead, and so she told him that he would have to undergo a surgical process so that they could live. But Tuvix didn’t want to--he wanted to live! He told them he wanted to live! The Doctor refused to do it! 'Do no harm,' the Hippocratic Oath says, and this was doing harm!” At this point security had arrived and had grabbed me by the arms. “She murdered an innocent being no less than if she ordered anyone here to give up their heart or kidneys so they could be put in someone else’s body, against their wishes. MURDERER!” I screamed. At that point I now broke free and started running toward the stage. “MURDERER! ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES!”

And that’s when two more security staff jumped in front of me, wrestled me to the ground, and put me in restraints.

Chapter 40

I’d been in jail before, so I knew the drill--the intake process, the questions, the examination, the clothes, the cell. It was a different cell in a different part of the galaxy, but somehow it smelled the same. The smell of imprisonment.

No one spoke to me after my intake, and I was put in a solitary cell with no windows, just the force field keeping me in and everyone else out. Outside of my cell was a hallway and a wall of duranium, painted white. There was an LCARS console with very limited access, and no messaging operationality. A bed, a toilet, a shower, a small desk by the wall, a chair.

My new home.

It didn’t matter, of course. Finally, the world knew about Tuvix and what Janeway had done, and even if I was arrested and jailed (on what charges? Disturbing the peace? Attempted assault?), at the very least the public knew--everyone knew. A hundred million people at least had heard of Janeway’s crime, and I refused to believe that every single one of them would think she was innocent. Especially coming from me--the man who had saved the Federation from a Cardassian plot and who had bravely sacrificed his career for Romulan refugees when no one else would stand up for them. If nothing else, that had to get at least some sliver of the population to take what I said seriously.

There would be an investigation now. Janeway would finally need to explain herself, and justice could be served.

There would be another investigation, though--and that would be against me. I hadn’t been formally charged yet (that would have to come soon, though; they couldn’t hold me for more than 24 hours without charge), and already I knew what would happen. After all, this was all part of the plan.

They’d look for weapons, bombs, anything--they’d find nothing. They’d already seen I had no weapons on me, and surely a sweep of the area showed nothing of any danger at all. Then they’d go to my home, which I’d kept meticulously spotless--no signs of madness there. They’d look through my personal computer and my padd, they’d see I had thousands of unread messages from a full personal com--but there was nothing illegal about neglecting people. If anything, they might use it to determine I was not of sound mind and demand I be held for psychiatric evaluation.

None of that mattered, not now.

I was given my charges within three hours of arriving; there were two: obstructing official Starfleet business and attempted assault. The former was a misdemeanor, the latter a gross misdemeanor; maximum penalty for both would be a year and a half in prison.

I’d already spent eighteen months destroying my life for what was right; I could handle another eighteen months.

Honestly, I laughed at the charges--insignificant, inconsequential. But at the same time, I could not help but feel a need to tell the Federation that these charges were unjust. Why? Because I was fighting for the life of a man who never had anyone fight for him--not even his close friends and colleagues.

And that is why I am writing this letter to you. It is crucial that you know everything. If you are a lawyer, you are one because you care about justice. You don’t care about the law--the law is only a means to the end. The end is a just and fair universe. And maybe you think imprisoning me for a year and a half is just, that’s fine. I really don’t care. Maybe you think charging me with more crimes is just, again it doesn’t matter.

What matters is you understand that Janeway must face justice, like me.

Yes, she’s an admiral, yes she outranks me. But we are all Federation citizens, and this is the 24th century. We are a society of rules, and laws, and mercy, we do not let admirals kill individuals because they are admirals. Do not set the clock back six hundred years because Janeway is a celebrity.

Do the right thing. For Tuvix. For us.

My lawyer visited me the morning of my second day--Sir Thomas Fennick, one of the most decorated and respected lawyers in the quadrant. I had attended guest lectures of his at the Academy, and in any other circumstance I may have been stunned to see him in person. Of course, being a public defender on Earth is the top of the legal profession, a job reserved for the most qualified, successful, esteemed legal minds in the Federation. So I had expected to get a defender I knew and respected, but I had not expected to get one of the best legal minds alive.

As he approached my cell the force field dropped and a table and two chairs materialized in the center of the cell. He stepped in with two padds, put them on the table, and introduced himself as he sat down.

“I know who you are,” I responded quickly. “I attended your lecture on the history of theft in pre- and post-scarcity societies.”

“Ah, yes, at the Academy a few years ago, I do remember that--a fun topic,” he said. “I am aware of your legal background, of course. Shall we begin?” He motioned to the chair in front of him. I sat in it.

“You are being charged with two relatively minor charges, which is a stroke of luck,” he continued. “Technically an attack on the conference could be seen as an act of sedition, and the assault an attack on a senior officer. It appears they’re going soft on you, probably due to your own reputation.”

I smirked. “Or they’re going soft on me because they’re scared.”

Fennick raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he said, his Kensington accent wilting with condescension.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “I won against a cadre of admirals on the wrong side of history, and I can do it again.”

“Do you mean to say you intend to fight this?” he asked.

I nodded. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well quite simply because you will lose,” Fennick replied. “As you are most certainly aware, there are several million eyewitnesses to your attempted assault, and your charging the stage is unquestionably probable cause for the arrest and a conviction.”

I sat in silence, unsure of what to say.

“You would be best to keep your mouth shut during this ordeal and plead insanity, that way you can get a room at a psychiatric hospital,” he said. And get the help you need, he seemed to be suggesting.

“I am not crazy!” I demanded. “I did what was right.”

“If you thought Tuvix was murdered,” Fennick continued, “and you very well have some grounds for such a belief, you should have used the proper channels.”

“I did,” I said, defeated. “Trust me, I tried.” I then told him what I’ve told you--about the visits, the attempts to get a complaint made, to get the GP to investigate, and my frustrated efforts along the way.

“Just how long have you been trying to get Janeway?” he asked.

“Three years.”

Fennick’s eyes widened. “That...is an awfully long time to avenge the death of a total stranger.”

“Avenge?” I said incredulously. “No, not avenge. Justice. This was always about making sure the Federation stayed true to its principles and did not bend for a powerful woman because she’s loved. That’s called corruption, and it is wrong.”

“Your argument has merit, for sure,” he replied, “and that is why you should have used the proper channel--”

“Aren’t you listening to me, goddammit?” I demanded. “I did. I tried.”

“Did you never think to file a police report?”

I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The police--on Earth? Starfleet Internal Affairs? Earth police are incompetent--they’re used to handling disputes between tourists and merchants, there hasn’t been a murder committed by an Earth citizen in nearly five years. And IA? An Ensign files a report against an Admiral? They’d laugh at it and file it away.” I shook my head. “No. The only way I could make sure it got the proper attention it deserved is if I was doing the investigation.”

“To me,” Fennick said dryly, “that sounds rather like corruption.”

I stared into his black eyes. He meant no ill will at all; if anything, he was a legal mind thinking through the merits of my case and my approach. I couldn’t blame him for his questions any more than I could immediately say he was wrong.

“Sometimes,” I said lamely, “you have to do what you can to do what’s right.”

“Justifications are rarely needed when your cause is just,” he replied.

After a pause, he continued, “my advice is that you say nothing--if the prosecutor asks for an interview, insist that I am present, but say nothing. If they are willing to make an offer they will inform me, but when we have a trial date my advice is for you to plead guilt and beg for the court’s mercy. I can submit as evidence your personal message history and ask that the court order you to six months of psychiatric rehabilitation. Even if you are not crazy,” he added, belatedly.

I did not reply. I knew this was the best outcome, but I really was in no mood to strategize my defense. I wanted to know what was happening with the Tuvix controversy.

“Please, tell me,” I said, “what’s happening with Tuvix?”

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“I told the world Janeway killed Tuvix. Is there an investigation? Are people demanding one?”

Fennick shut off his padd. “I think it best if we don’t discuss such matters before the trial.”