Story Note: This is the end of the first part of the trilogy. Part II: Year of Silence is already being posted in installments under this pen name.

The edits to this story have been completed.

Doctor Deux

"Shields up! Red alert! And, somebody, report!" the orders were louder than the hiss of the turbolift doors as they slid shut behind the captain, but they were still nearly drowned out by a rumble from the decks below.

Around the bridge – and then very sharply through it – Voyager shuddered under the assault she met against her shields.

Harry dragged himself up from where he had landed on the floor, unaware of the sizable burn stretching across one cheek and down his neck – the injury the outcome of a nearby console erupting in a shower of sparks and steam – and answered her quickly.

"Two ships have decloaked and are firing, three more are coming out of warp…now!"

Where there had once been empty space, there were now three specks, each of which were growing significantly closer with each passing second.

Harry magnified the view without being asked, and the bridge crew was only mildly surprised by what they saw (this was a familiar dance, just on a different day). In the lead, and the easiest to identify, was the Delta Flyer, looking scorched but in one piece. Behind her were two oddly incandescent triangular spacecrafts that were neither familiar nor menacing in appearance.

But looks could be deceiving (i.e, the Kazon), and Kathryn had more than a hunch telling her that the assault was coming from two identical ships.

"Try hailing them, Harry. Tuvok?"

The Vulcan regarded her coolly, "Our shields are holding at eighty-six percent, Captain."

"Any luck with that hail?"

In the time it took the Ensign to send another request, Voyager jerked once more, nearly throwing Kathryn off her feet; she corrected her balance before colliding with the railing:

"I'll take that as a no. Evasive maneuvers. Forget the hail, Mr. Kim. Can we contact the Delta Flyer?"

Tom's face filled the screen, but he wasted no time at looking up toward them, "I hope you don't mind that I brought home a few friends, Captain."

Kathryn ignored his wit – something that could always do with better timing on his part, but was an expected installment whenever they were in a crunch – "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Go to a strange new place, meet new life, and then the new life attacks you without provocation." Tom peered up for a moment, the expression in his eyes serious and confused – he really didn't know why this was happening.

"We have the dilithium, and our shields are holding. And, to be perfectly honest, their weapon arsenal isn't what I would call intimidating, so don't worry about us."

"Just stay out of their way, Tom," the transmission ended with a brief nod of her head, just as Chakotay strode off the turbolift.

"Captain?"

"We have company, Commander."

"If this is their way of saying hello, I'm not sure I want to ask them in for tea," he was level with her on the command platform now. Instead of staying on his feet; however, Chakotay sat in his chair and pulled up all the information that was being fed to them from various stations throughout the ship.

Kathryn caught his eye briefly, and they shared one of their old, rueful smiles,

"Tuvok," she ordered, "fire a warning shot off the lead ship's port bow. Show them what they're up against."

The glow of Voyager's phaser fire lit up the view screen twice. Both skimmed the angular side of the same alien vessel – the power of the energy catching whatever they used to shield themselves and sending the ship into a violent rocking motion – a moment later, Tuvok spoke, "They are powering down their weapons."

"They're hailing," Harry added, "Audio and visual."

"About time. Put them through, Mr. Kim."

A tall, serenely slender woman filled the screen. Silence permeated the bridge as her deep, wide-set black eyes peered down at them without seeming to blink. Pale, smooth yet unsettlingly taunt skin seemed to stretch across prominent bone structures, giving the impression that, if the Betazoids had distant cousins, the woman before them would belong to that race.

"I am Tih-ahn Ra of the Briyali Fifth Order, your entrance into our space has not been approved. We have taken into consideration your defensive warnings and have determined that you are not an aggressor. Please state the business of your presence in our space, and we will see to your passage."

Kathryn's eyebrows shot up briefly in surprise, but she did not turn to share the glance she knew Chakotay had sent her way.

"I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship Voyager. We are traveling home and have been adrift in your space for several weeks. As for our shuttle – our warp technology depends on dilithium; my crew was simply mining it. I apologize for any misunderstandings. We weren't aware that this space was otherwise occupied."

Tih-ahn Ra gave her a slow but brief bow, "A simple mistake, Captain. Our markers for the outer region of our territory are often lost to the subspace anomalies and rebellious activity that occurs here. I had assumed your shuttle's pilot was among the latter. I apologize as well; please accept the dilithium that was oared as a token of friendship."

"That's very kind," almost too kind, yet there was nothing in the other woman's demeanor that suggest subterfuge, "Is there anything I can do in return?"

A moment passed as the alien commander addressed someone out of view, when she returned, she bowed once more, "My home world, Briyali Tei lies thirty lightyears from our current location. If you would be so kind to accompany us on the trip, my people invite you to exchange cultural information. We are fond of peaceful travelers"

This time, Kathryn did meet Chakotay's gaze and then Tuvok's. There was no objection in either.

"We'd love to."

ii

"The entity explored this space sixty years ago; current data is limited."

Kathryn stood near Seven at one of the astrometric terminals, reading over the young woman's shoulder quickly, "Nine inhabitable planets, each within seventy light years of one another and all along our course. I haven't seen such fertile space in years. Have you cross-referenced this with the Borg database?"

Seven have her a curt nod, "The Borg considered assimilating Species 260, the Treveene, but a catastrophe in the atmosphere of their home planet rendered their technology inert and eradicated a significant percentage of their population."

"How long ago?"

Seven stood silently as she accessed that information, "Fifty-eight years, three months, five da…"

That was no coincidence, "The entity?"

"Your hypothesis sufficiently fits the data; I will attempt to verify it," Seven left her side and moved toward the central console.

"Good," Kathryn punched in a few commands, but found the density of the information discouraging, "You wouldn't have anything on the Briyal, would you?"

"Very little," Seven, who had been busy accessing her own information, brought Briyali Tei and its system on the holographic screen for the captain's viewing.

In the lower right corner, a magnification of the planet was displayed, showing off the rich green and white surface, "Species 261. They had early warp core capabilities at the time of the Treveene's atmospheric disaster. The Borg assimilated a science vessel. The Briyal only offered advanced holographic technology and weak telepathic biological capabilities. The Borg did not pursue them further."

"And the information provided to us by the entity?"

"It provided nothing," if one strained their ears, they might have heard that statement as a complaint.

Kathryn clicked her tongue and placed a hand on her hip, "Looks like we're going to have to do what we've always done."

For a brief moment, Seven smirked, "If you mean fly recklessly into a vastly unknown territory, then I believe you are correct; we will have to do what we have always done."

Kathryn pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, but was smiling – at least a little bit – on the inside.

iii

There was a soft but heartfelt sigh to the Doctor's right as the ship's pilot took one of the many open seats next to him in the dark mess hall.

Tom Paris looked like a man who had spent the past several evenings attending to a quarter-Klingon child who was, to the great regret of her parents, experiencing growing pains. Something that neither doctor had been willing to prescribe anesthetics for, since young Klingon immune systems responded poorly to them.

If there was any latent reason that explain why the entire race worshipped pain, the Doctor could see that being it.

"You're up late, Doc."

Heavy bones and dry eyes agreed with Tom's statement of the obvious.

The Doctor had had a long double shift.

It was something he could have easily drifted through as a hologram, but – now that he was human – he found difficult to do. He had been programmed with the ability to focus on multiple thoughts at once a long time ago, but as a human he had not been trained to focus even on one. The difference was distinct. It made his mind wander when preforming simple checkups on crew-members who clearly didn't need them, but wanted them anyway, because maybe they had this obscure disease that, if he still didn't have part of his medical database stored in the mobile emitter in his brain, he'd be hard-pressed to know.

"There was no food on reserve when I got in."

The Doctor said this carefully, not wanting to seem as if he had been waiting for someone he could complain to. That was no way to make friends with people who were already unsure which version of you to be friends with.

But he had a valid reason for it, complaining that is, if he had really wanted to. The replicators were out again, and since most of the dilithium mined was going to the warp core, little would be spared for easy access to non-emergency supplies.

So, he'd had to make his own dinner. And since he'd lost his few cooking skills in the accident (incident, as others like to refer to it) dinner was served cold.

"Yeah, Chell doesn't have Neelix's knack for running an endless buffet," Tom dug into some of the leftover salad the Doctor had thrown together, before looking up at him sheepishly, "You don't mind, do you? I'm starved. Miral is eating everything in sight."

The Doctor found himself granting the younger man a reluctant smile and nod. If there was anyone on Voyager who could fit into the roll of bedraggled father, his would have least expected it to be Tom Paris. Hell, if pressed, he'd admit that Harry Kim would have been the likelier candidate, and even the ensign had slim chances compared to many others.

But fatherhood suited Paris. Oddly. Perhaps it was the contented roundness that had begun to fill out the pilot (the Doctor was a doctor, after all, he was supposed to notice the increase in his patient's weight), or perhaps the blond had been cocky in his youth and needed only a few more years than most to grow up. Caring for a child probably worked wonders on him as well.

...Who was he kidding, Kim would need a few more decades.

"Go ahead."

(He'd made extra because the Captain usually came in late – in the dead of the night, likely under the delusion that no one noticed. It had seemed imperative to him when he'd slipped into the hydroponics bay an hour earlier to sift through the greens there, that she have something they'd grown to eat when she came in to brood.

Even if it wasn't much. Just so she knew someone cared, in only a slightly intrusive way).

They sat quietly as Paris tried to eat politely but failed – probably as starved as he'd claimed to be – and the Doctor pushed little pieces of alien lettuce around on his plate.

There was so much he wanted to discuss with someone, but it clearly wasn't going to be with Paris, although he wasn't as difficult a companion as he once had been. It could not Seven or Tuvok or Samantha Wildman, as they had each taken to speaking with the EMH more frequently than with him.

Even the Captain was not a viable option, although she had generously offered him her ear.

He could talk to himself – the EMH, that is – but there had been a tacit agreement between the two of them not to spend any time together if they could help it.

It wasn't as if they couldn't get along – they probably were well suited for some sort of wit-riddled friendship. Neither questioned the continued existence of the other, but there were clearly some things neither wanted to be reminded of. Or, at least, he didn't want to be reminded of.

(He'd already had enough silent, lonely panic attacks in the last month to know what would trigger another. It was difficult enough looking in the mirror; hearing his voice across the room was asking too much).

Paris had been looking at him in his oddly perceptive way, chewing his food slowly until the Doctor realized that he was being observed.

By then, it was too late to stop his company from speaking, "What are you reading?"

The padd to the right of the Doctor's plate had been discarded more than an hour before. His eyes had grown tired of studying it in the dark, and he'd had to make the choice between raising the lights so he could continue reading or sitting idly in the shadows. Since his focus had already been weakened by his shift, the latter option had won out effortlessly in the end.

"If you must know," the answer might have had a chance at being pompous and irritated, but the Doctor's tone ruined it. Tired. Work weary, he still wasn't used to being so exhausted, "it's the medical information the planetoid...transmitted. There isn't much, but I need to study it."

Study it. By reading! In the past he could have just downloaded the information right into his database and leave reading for novels. Now, however, with his new limitations, no information could be introduced into his program. His brain and body must be conserved, and any disturbance in information flows between the mobile emitter and his brain pathways might cause damage that no one could treat.

Not even himself...his other self...

The Doctor felt weighted down by the limitations of his body and more than a little useless because of it. He spent so much time catching up with his hologram, who would have already incorporated the information and begun developing hypotheses, that he wondered if it was worth it to even try.

Paris picked up the padd and keyed it on, his eyes skimming the information, "Treveene anatomy and physiology. I'm sure it's fascinating stuff...but...no wait...can I give you some advice?"

The Doctor blinked at him, not sure if he wanted to agree. But his curiosity wan out in the end, and he nodded very imperceptibly, hoping that the pilot didn't see.

"Pace yourself, get some sleep, and..."

Paris finished chewing and set his fork aside, signaling that he was done with his meal, "Don't try to memorize it cold, you'll just end up frustrated in the end. For humans, databases are external referencing tools not internal. It'll be there for you when you need it, and you haven't lost the ability to work with the information once you have it, it'll just take some getting used to. That's all..."

How had he...?

Was the Doctor really that easy to read that Thomas Paris could give him strangely solid advice?

"How..."

Paris watched as the dilemma played itself out across his crew-mate's expression, and couldn't help but take the opportunity to exploit it, "I'm offended! I've worked with you, and dealt with your ego for the past eight years and you still think that I don't at least know how you work? What am I to you? Brain dead?"

The Doctor blinked, flabbergasted and unaware that Paris was only setting the bait.

A smile was tugging at the pilot's lips as he stood, "And B'Elanna told me you aren't able to download data anymore. I could help you make an index on the holodeck, a visual display of the information you need as it would fit in your old cognitive algorithms."

Tom seemed to realize that he might be overstepping his bounds, "Not to assume that...only if you'd like me to."

"I..." the Doctor swallowed, shocked, but then again, not shocked, by the support of the man staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for the denial and words of harsh chastisement, but looking undaunted by the possibility regardless.

"I would like that. Thank you."

v

"The captain's hunch was right, the Treveene were unable to support the entity in their atmosphere," the holographic doctor remained seated at his desk, taking Seven's comm-call at the terminal there instead of in his lab, where he had run the tests she'd asked him.

Even photons needed to rest their legs on occasion, although it was for other reasons than being tired.

The blonde seemed unmoved by his announcement, but her interest in the information was not going to be found in her facial expressions. The fact that she had remained up this late into the evening when it more efficient to complete a regeneration cycle is what gave her curiosity away, "Please provide more proof than your spoken agreement, Doctor."

He sighed and fought the urge to refer her directly to the report, which she could download as easily as he, "The Treveene's physiology contained a significant respiratory enzyme that would, if the entity were present, be inhibited by its own physiological properties. Their bodies would be starved of the necessary energy to live in a manner of weeks."

Seven's eyes left the screen as she searched through data, her brow furrowed in a visible display of confusion, "Our information states that the entity remained in their atmosphere for nearly three years. We also know that several thousand survivors remained on the surface to rebuild. Explain."

Perhaps he was just sensitive to commands that made him feel like a tool, but her recent treatment of him felt worse than it had in the previous year. Which, itself, had been fairly cold.

The Doctor shrugged it off, "It's simple, Seven. The entity would have caused wide-spread death, as the data, shows. But any number of mutations that presented themselves in older generation and persisted into younger ones could have created an enzyme that would not be inhibited by the entity's gaseous properties."

"Is it likely that any of the original survivors remain? The captain may be interested to know."

The Doctor ran the appropriate statistics through several of his probability algorithms and had the answer in moments, "It would have created a bottleneck effect. Any Treveenes that are alive today to carry that enzyme would have lost the gene diversity necessary to insure their survival in another environmental disaster. They're vulnerable, if they are still there, but that does not mean they aren't there."