Free Star Trek: Voyager: Endgame by Diane Carey Page B

standard, but that standard had stopped advancing seven years ago. There were no new data to enhance the system, no flow of brilliance from many quarters. Except for information gathered about alien life here in the Delta Quadrant,
Voyager'
s medical facility was in a kind of stasis. When it came to Vulcans, Tuvok himself was the only case study. Thus, the Doctor might log the progress of this disease for use on other Vulcans at a future time, but Tuvok knew his own prospects for improvement.
    At which point would he become useless to the ship? Would he sense the changes accurately? Would he be able to be of use to the captain long enough to make a difference for the crew's future?
    Should he begin to train someone else in his duties? Simply by virtue of his being a Vulcan, three crewmen would be required to replace him.
    He had never wanted to be a teacher . . .
    A hypospray pressed to his arm and shook him from his troubled thoughts.
    “Thank you, Doctor,” he said. Soon his mind would clear.
    He stood up, steadied himself, and moved toward the door.
    “Commander—”
    Tuvok paused, and turned at the Doctor's summons.
    The Doctor's expression was solicitous. “I understand your desire for privacy, but maybe it's time we informed the captain.”
    “I
will inform her,” Tuvok said with unnecessary force, “if and when the disorder begins to affect the performance of my duties.”
    He managed to exit before the experience began to show upon his face or in his stride.
    Was fear an emotion?



CHAPTER 9

    “Y OUR MOVE .”
    “Green, grid twelve-ten.”
    The astrometrics lab was working on automatic, scanning the skies. Seven of Nine listened to the readouts as they murmured in the background, but gave them no undue attention. The machines were at their finest tuning possible and would alert her if there were some disturbance in the scans.
    She concentrated instead upon the kadis-kot board on top of her console. On the dome-screen optical, a large picture of Neelix's face added a sense of community to the otherwise antiseptic lab. Community was important.
    “Red,” Seven said, “grid three-thirteen.”
    She moved her chip accordingly.
    “Tricky,” Neelix said.
    Was this approval of her move? She believed so.
    “How is Brax?” she asked as she waited for him to consider his response tactic.
    “Wonderful,” Neelix said with enthusiasm. “Thanks for asking. I know I can never replace his father, but . . .”
    His voice trailed off.
    Seven offered encouragement. “I have no doubt the boy looks up to you.”
    Neelix smiled in a way that gratified her. “Yellow, grid one-one.” As she moved his chip in representation of him, he added, “I haven't told anyone, but I'm thinking of asking Dexa to marry me.”
    “She'd be wise to accept,” Seven said. She had found Neelix to be a forthright person, friendly and accepting. Such a marriage would be a prized union.
    Neelix was smiling at her. “Enough about my love life. How's yours?”
    Something about the question made her aware of herself. This self-awareness was one of the more interesting and disturbing elements of her life without the Collective, yet somehow she was always excited by it.
    “I don't have a ‘love life,’ ” she said.
    “Oh? What would you call your relationship with Commander Chakotay?”
    “It's your turn.”
    Why did she wish so much for privacy on this subject? She had never cared before what was said between herself and the commander, or who overheard them. Neelix had been kind to her, and encouraging in this new venture, this concept of romance and the joining of two people in a special bond. Perhaps he was succeeding, for this kind of mutuality was traditionally personal. Did she have “a relationship”?
    “Actually,” Neelix said, “it's yours. At least tell me how he liked the picnic.”
    She glanced at the dome-screen and allowed herself to confide in him. “It was an enjoyable experience for both of us. Thank you for