Date: Thu, 22 Apr 1999 19:25:07 PDT 
From: Lorelei Sieja <lorisieja@HOTMAIL.COM> 
Subject: Redemption of The Damned, 01a/25 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 


REDEMPTION OF THE DAMNED	
    By Lorelei Sieja
	
Chapter One: The Beast
	
	She was there.  
	The phantom lover of his dreams plagued him again. teasing, 
taunting the beast, bringing him to the edge of his self-control and 
beyond.  Long, chestnut curls entwined in his fingers.  Wide set eyes 
bored into him like wooden stakes, demanding and compelling, baring his 
very soul, the one he claimed he did not have.  Her sharp fangs sank 
into the pale, tender skin at his throat.  Sucking deeply of his 
essence, she discovered him.  All of his thoughts, his dreams and his 
disappointments, all he had been in the past and all that he might yet 
become, she perceived through the blood kiss.  She knew the killer and 
the lover. the vampire and the man.  
	His need to possess her intensified.  The beast let out an 
unearthly growl, fangs descended, eyes of the killer turned blood red.  
His back arched as he reached out to her, desperate to taste her, 
needing her more than life itself.  But his arms wrapped around nothing, 
as the phantom dissolved and Nick awoke to an empty room.  
	He sat up slowly, dazed and disoriented.  The room was all 
darkness and shadow, as the red eyes of the beast sought vainly for the 
nightmare creature.  He wiped blood sweat from his brow and stared at 
its red sheen on his palm.  Absently, he lapped at it and closed his 
eyes, vainly trying to recall the dream.  
	It was gone.  
	
	Nick buried his beast.  Then the shadows of the room rescinded and 
he could plainly see the timepiece on the nightstand.  He had overslept!  
It was his first day on the job, his first day back to work after 
spending so many days between the brig and sickbay.  The party last 
night had made him feel forgiven, welcomed back into the fold, as it 
were, after some of them had discovered what he was and just what he had 
been doing to them. Today certainly wasn't starting out the way he would 
have planned.  He reached for a nearly empty bottle from the floor and 
drained the warm, stale dregs.  
	B'Elanna was gone.  She must have slipped out some time in the 
night.  He had been so exhausted; he barely remembered a thing.  Just 
the thought of B'Elanna was enough to bring back the eyes of the beast.  
She was so delicious, so alluring!   Nick sprang from the bed and headed 
in to take a cold shower.  He wondered, idly, as the water cleansed 
blood sweat from him, why he had been permitted to sleep in.  Starships 
were fairly structured places.   But then, Ship's Historian and 
Counselor was not a critically demanding position, either.  Perhaps they 
knew how difficult these past weeks had been for him?  
	He pulled on a clean, new uniform.  The gray turtleneck shirt and 
black trousers were the same, but the black jacket with a teal yoke was 
new. a sign of his recent promotion to the "medical" profession. Nick 
grinned wryly at the thought of himself as a counselor!  Wouldn't 
LaCroix enjoy a few laughs over that!  Nick had been a veterinarian 
before, and during some of earth's many military conflicts in centuries 
past he had served as a doctor, providing emergency treatment to the 
critically wounded.  That had been a mutually beneficial position, as he 
drew minimal sustenance from his patients, just enough to keep going, 
and relieved their wretched pain with his hypnotic ability.  But 
medicine had progressed beyond his meager skills and he no longer tried 
to pass himself off as a doctor.
	Somehow, though, Captain Janeway had the impression that he would 
be useful as a psychologist.  True, he had been able to diagnose Crewman 
Paulus's severe depression, but recognizing the problem was not the same 
as solving it. He knew her fears and repressed emotions through tasting 
her blood.  That technique would not work on the non-human members of 
the crew. Vulcan, Talaxian, Bolian, Borg. all were inedible.  In fact, 
the human percentage of the crew was just barely enough to keep him 
alive, and then, only when they were healthy.  Since they were still 
recovering from the effects of a devastating parasitic infection, Nick 
had had to rely heavily on the flat, unsatisfying replicated plasma for 
several weeks.  His stomach lurched.  It was even worse than chilled 
bottled cow blood!
	Paulus would be coming in later this afternoon for the first of 
what would undoubtedly be many sessions, and Nick didn't have a clue how 
to proceed.  It unnerved him.  What if while trying to help her, he 
caused her more harm?  It would not be the first time that good 
intentions coupled with inexperience backfired for him.
	LaCroix, his vampire master, had been rather insistent that he was 
above the mortal laws and customs.  Schools and academies were for the 
pitiful beings whose lives were too brief to accumulate the experiences 
a vampire gained through assuming a myriad of identities in the course 
of his immortal existence.  
	The memories of Chicago were still sharp, when he had first 
stepped into the life of a cop.  He had almost cost his partner's life 
because of his inexperience and lack of training.  Although he'd 
received a citation for his performance that night, he had chosen to 
attend the police academy anyway, and learn the skills he would need, 
just like a mortal.  
	But now, stranded out here so many thousands of light-years from 
Earth, where could he go to learn?  Who would teach him?  If there was 
another qualified counselor anywhere on this ship, then he would not be 
needed. 
	Nick paused in front of the mirror to straighten his new jacket, 
only to be angered again by its refusal to reflect his image.  He 
slammed a fist into it, hard enough for it to fissure in a starburst 
pattern.  Small drops of vampire blood dripped from his hand.  He ran 
his tongue across the sharp points of his fangs as he watched the tiny 
cuts leave spots of red on the counter before they healed.
	The door chimed softly.  "Enter," Nick called.
	Chakotay stepped inside.  Nick smiled at him, once again regaining 
control of his darker side.  "Here to walk me to work?" he asked.
	Chakotay folded his strong arms across his chest.  The action was 
the only sign of his displeasure as the stoic Indian's face revealed 
nothing, and yet Nick sensed that he was really very angry.  Nick 
considered Chakotay the closest to a friend that he had in the entire 
quadrant; his anger bothered him.  Last night at the party Chakotay had 
been supportive and Nick had assumed he was forgiven. Today was just 
beginning.  How much trouble could he be in already?
	"Uh. I'm sorry that I'm late.  Guess I forgot to set the 
chronometer to wake me.  But, no one called either.  How late am I?"
	"I tried to contact you.  Where is your comm badge?"  
	Nick scanned the room and his gaze settled on some smashed bits of 
wire and components that may very well have been his comm badge a little 
while ago.  He picked up the fragments, feeling somewhat embarrassed.  
"Sorry, Chakotay.  I. I really don't know how this happened."
	Chakotay let a heavy silence fill the room for several minutes 
before he responded.  "B'Elanna was late this morning too."
	Nick squirmed under Chakotay's scrutiny.  He knew B'Elanna once 
had a crush on the First Officer, but he didn't think that Chakotay 
returned her feelings.  What was he getting at?
	"She had to report to sickbay first.  Seems she had some rather 
nasty bruises and a broken wrist."
	Nick stared at him, his lips parted as though he would deny it, 
but he said nothing.  
	"I know that Klingons tend to get off on violence, but you have to 
remember that she is half human, raised among humans with human customs.  
And we don't tolerate that kind of abuse-"
	Nick sank onto the edge of his bed.  His shoulders slumped, his 
face turned downward.  He shook his head sadly, slowly.  "I didn't warn 
her," he whispered.  "I was so tired, I must have fallen asleep..   It 
won't happen again."
	Chakotay unfolded his arms.  He laid a hand on Nick's shoulder.  
"Warn her of what, Nick?"
	Nick hesitated.  He never did like to talk about himself.  But 
Chakotay's grip became a little firmer. 
	"Warn her of what?" he asked again, this time in a tone of voice 
that would not be ignored.
	"Never to wake me."  Nick's voice was barely above a whisper.
	Chakotay waited.  "Explain."
	Nick looked up at his friend.  Guilt and shame played across his 
youthful face.  "The vampire wakes first.  Not the man."
	Chakotay tried to understand what he was telling him.  He sat 
beside Nick on the bed, a less intimidating posture, and lightened the 
moment with stoic humor.  "The vampire wakes up first.  What does that 
mean?  That you regularly get up on the wrong side of the bed?  That you 
are not a morning person?"
	"Meaning, that I have no control over my actions.  The vampire 
reacts on instinct.  It only lasts for a few seconds, but sometimes that 
is all it takes."
	"To do what?"
	"To kill."  Nick heaved a sigh.
	The silence grew to fill several minutes.  Chakotay remained 
beside Nick, not judging him and not condemning him, but just accepting 
him.  "Could put a real kink in a relationship," he said at length.  "So 
how have you handled it in the past?"
	"I have always lived alone.  I have never kept an. intimate. 
relationship with someone who was not also a vampire."
	Chakotay whistled between his teeth.  "Don't envy you telling this 
to B'Elanna.  If I know her, she isn't going to give up easily.  So, 
when I tried to contact you, the vampire destroyed the comm badge, and 
went back to sleep?"
	Nick shrugged.
	"What's the right way to wake a vampire, then?"
	"From the other side of a closed door," Nick commented dryly.  
	"What about calling the computer to turn on all the lights 
brightly?"
	"No!"  Nick looked horrified.  He stuttered once, before he was 
able to speak coherently again.  "We sleep when it's daylight!  And 
bright lights are painful!"
	Chakotay chuckled softly, as he unfolded his long legs and stood.  
"I know.  Not funny, huh?  Come on, let's get you to work."
	Nick stood, his shame and grief still on his face.  "But. How's 
B'Elanna?"
	"She's fine.  In fact, she's practically glowing.  I know she's a 
passionate woman, but I've never seen her quite so. feminine. before.  
You're good for her, Nick."
	"So long as I don't kill her first," he muttered.
	"Yes, that's true," Chakotay replied, slapping Nick on the 
shoulders.  "Now come on!  You're new job is waiting.  We've got a room 
set aside for you, but you'll have to arrange it the way you want-- 
Captain Janeway has cleared the replicators for your use today-- order 
up what you need."  Chakotay continued to talk to Nick about the plans 
and changes they were making concerning him, but Nick's mind was only 
half listening.  He felt torn between his consuming desire for the 
Klingon blood with the taste of lilacs and honey and his certainty that 
sending her far away from him was ultimately the best thing for her.    
	
	
	Nick's new office was a small room just down the hall from 
sickbay.  It was oddly shaped, previously a generic storage compartment 
wedged in around structural supports and jeffries tubes, yet it had an 
outside bulkhead with a large, sloping view to the stars.  
	Nick didn't like it.  The colors were dreary.  Drab steel-gray 
walls and floors, two utilitarian white-cushioned chairs, and little 
else.  Even his loft back in Toronto had had more warmth and interest.  
	Chakotay clapped him on the back again, then poured the broken 
remains of his comm badge into Nick's hand.  "You can start with 
repairing this.  Maybe that will remind you to keep it out of harm's way 
while you sleep?" 
	Nick nodded glumly.  
	"The Captain said she sent you a message, and that you're to 
attend the next staff meeting which is scheduled for tomorrow at eight 
bells."
	He watched Chakotay leave, then sank into one white chair.  There 
was no tabletop or other surface to work on.  There were no shelves, no 
pictures, no items at all to make the room less austere and 
intimidating.  Crewman Paulus would never be able to relax in here!  He 
felt an odd sensation, a pounding behind his eyes, something like a 
headache, and a rumble inside to remind him that he hadn't fed yet, 
either.  Although most crewmen who overslept had to endure working on an 
empty stomach, Nick knew that wasn't the wisest option in his case.  He 
had too recently been ill.  Although he had mostly recovered, he didn't 
feel strong enough yet to maintain the control he must constantly exert 
over his darker nature.   
	So, he headed up towards the Mess Hall.  Neelix was fairly easy to 
hypnotize.  One way or another, he would feed.
	
	"Oh, Mr. Knight!" the squat little Talaxian bubbled.  "I'm so glad 
that you stopped by!  I didn't see you this morning.  You know, you 
should start joining the crew at meals!  Sharing food is very important 
to your emotional well being and no one needs to know what is in your 
glass, really!  This is only slightly more disgusting than that black 
stuff the captain is always drinking-"
	"Enough!" Nick roared.  That creature's endless chatter could 
bring an entirely new meaning to the word "eternity".  
	Neelix affably offered Nick a coffee mug filled with his beverage 
of choice.  "Of course, Mr. Knight.  We're all a little testy when we're 
hungry."  Neelix pulled out a chair and motioned for Nick to sit.  Then 
he placed a full bottle on the table before him.
	Nick inhaled the warm liquid's faint scent.  This was Ensign Kim, 
he was certain, even before he tasted it.  He turned his back to the 
intruding alien as he felt his fangs descend and he savored the small 
cup's contents.  Kim's youthful offering was fragrant and filling; his 
wide-eyed enthusiasm crossed over into his blood.  Nick licked his lips 
appreciatively, and wondered again at how could he have survived for 
almost a century on that spineless bovine product?  Nick spread the comm 
badge pieces out and sorted them.  
	Neelix hovered nearby.  He wiped off some other tables, 
straightened chairs, surreptitiously glancing at his only customer.  
Nick tried to ignore him.  He drained the last of Kim's offering, then 
refilled his cup from the bottle of replicated blood.  It was flat.  He 
grimaced, forgetting for a moment that he had an attentive audience.  
	"I am sorry, Mr. Knight.  Captain Janeway said to offer only one 
cup at mealtimes for now, and all the replicated stuff you can drink.  
You'll have to take it up with her if it isn't sufficient."
	Nick shrugged, not looking at him.  The comm badge was almost 
irreparable.  It would be so much simpler to get a new one from the 
replicator.  Chakotay must have given him this inane assignment as some 
sort of penance.  The parts were so small, and relatively fragile 
compared to his superior strength.  He would have to control his 
irritation before he rendered it completely useless.   Several times he 
got nearly everything where it belonged, and then one part, still 
slightly warped, would buckle and jump out of alignment.  He clenched 
his jaw, feeling his tenuous control slip, and his eyes changed to the 
red night vision of the predator, which was perfect for hunting by 
starlight, but made even seeing the cold, inanimate components 
difficult.  The badge fell back apart, little pieces danced just out of 
reach across the glossy table.  He growled fiercely.
	A mottled hand with tufts of yellowish fur gently swept the pieces 
into a tidy pile.  Nick glared at him, not even bothering to conceal the 
face of a vampire.  Maybe the worrisome creature would easily be scared 
away.  Neelix slid into the chair opposite him with a small tray of 
tools just right for the job.  Quietly, carefully, he rebuilt the badge 
and tightened its bonds.  
	"There, Mr. Knight.  I think that should just about do it," he 
said.  
	Nick accepted it.  "Sorry," he grunted, knowing he should 
apologize for his rudeness yet not quite able to make himself actually 
feel remorseful. 
	"Oh, that's quite all right, really.  No harm done.  In fact, that 
is something that I wanted to talk to you about."
	"I said sorry," he grunted more loudly.
	Neelix patted his hand paternally.  "There, there, Mr. Knight.  I 
only meant that I think I know how you might be feeling."
	Nick stared at him.  Gone was the vampire and in its place was a 
youthful face with eyes the color of a pale blue sky and soft blonde 
hair that curled boyishly.  Neelix found it hard to imagine that this 
troubled young man was older than Talaxian recorded history. 
	"I, too, am all alone on this ship.  Oh, there are 152 crewmen, 
but no other Talaxians.  No one with the same background, the same 
biochemistry, the same cultural heritage or beliefs.  I have many 
friends and acquaintances here, but no one who really knows what it is 
like to be Talaxian."
	Nick sighed.  He hadn't known just how busy a counselor could be.   
Maybe, eventually, he would have to talk with just about everyone on the 
ship, but were they all going to come by today?
	Neelix patted his hand again.  "So, I just wanted to let you know, 
Mr. Knight, that if you need to blow off a little steam at some one, you 
just come in here and yell at me.  I won't mind a bit.  I can't cook for 
you, make you any special meals, but, I would be glad to serve as a 
release valve for you, if you think it would be of help."
	Nick hung his head.  These people were all being so nice!  What 
had he ever done to deserve it?  "Thank you," he whispered.  "And, you 
can call me "Nick"."
	"Is there anything that you need for your new office?"
	Nick shrugged.  "Yes, actually.  The room needs help, but I 
haven't figured out what."
	Neelix walked with Nick back towards his office and was 
companionably quiet.  Nick matched his step, so the short chef wouldn't 
have to struggle to keep up.  At the right door, Nick paused.  A new 
plaque had been mounted on the wall panel, next to the room number and 
security lock.  "Lieutenant Knight, Counselor."  He felt a sudden rush 
of pride, even though he felt he had done nothing to deserve this 
position.  
	The sensitive little alien beamed.  "That is a right pretty sight, 
isn't it, Mr. Knight?  Nick, I mean.  Seeing your name like that?"
	Nick was grateful that his pale complexion didn't blush easily.  
He stepped close enough for the door to slide open, then entered.  
Neelix came in behind him and stared at the room's cold austerity. 
	"Yes, it definitely needs a few touches," he suggested.  "A low 
table- "coffee table" I believe is the correct term.  A plant or two, I 
have some from Kes. I'll loan them to you for now, and take some 
cuttings from them.  Some artwork, too.  Do you have a painting of your 
own to hang here?  And I think a pet would be nice, to create a cozy 
living environment."
	"No."
	Neelix smiled broadly up at Nick.  "Well, a fish tank might do it.  
Just think about it, and we'll start with the table.  
	
	Nick had been unable to get rid of his self-invited guest until 
Neelix's rumbling stomach reminded him that it was time to get the next 
meal prepared.  By then the room had been artfully transformed.  Several 
colorful throw pillows brightened the sterile white chairs, which sat at 
a gentle angle to each other.  The coffee table in front of the chairs 
displayed two flowering plants, a Trngi music box, and a small booklet 
of poetry, all gathered on a circular piece of antique lace that an old 
friend of Nick's, Mama John, had crocheted for him a few centuries ago.  
One of Nick's original oil paintings hung on the wall where it was 
visible from both chairs.  That was it.  Nick thought that he might 
invite each of his clients to donate something appropriate. That way he 
wouldn't have to do anything more to the room, and they might feel like 
the room was part theirs, as well.  Maybe it would even help them to 
feel more comfortable.      
	Then he read his mail, which included two short notes of 
encouragement for his first day as counselor, a job description copied 
right out of the Starfleet Regulations and Training manual, and an 
impersonal message from the captain.  She stated the time and place for 
the staff meeting and gave him the proper clearance codes to continue 
writing the history he'd been doing unofficially all along.  Nick 
shrugged as he filed it.  She wasn't comfortable around him yet.  But at 
least she was making an effort to treat him like part of the crew.  
	The door chimed softly.  Nick jumped.  He felt strangely anxious, 
as he wondered who might be his first official visitor.  "Enter," he 
said.  He hoped whoever it was wouldn't hear the nervousness in his 
voice.
	B'Elanna smiled at him.  She ran to embrace him, standing up on 
her toes to kiss him and passionately nibbled at his neck.
	Nick held her tightly. For a few moments, he reveled in her 
nearness, in the soft fragrance that was so much a part of her.  Then he 
drew back.  "They said you were hurt," he whispered.  He held her small 
hands in his, his eyes downcast.  He was the picture of remorse.  
	"They don't know shit," she cursed.  
	Nick turned her palms up, looking for any sign of a bruise, then 
ventured to look at her face.  She looked fine, lovely even.
	B'Elanna pulled free from his scrutiny.  "I'm fine!  But, you 
could have warned me that you wake up so. so passionate!  I would have 
set the alarm earlier to allow more time."
	"B'Elanna!  I wasn't. I mean, I didn't. I don't even remember this 
morning!"
	She laughed.  Nick was confused.  He hadn't meant to be amusing.  
	"So, do we have a schizophrenic shrink with multiple personality 
disorder?"
	"No."  Nick sank into one of the white chairs.  For all their ugly 
style and utilitarian covering, they were really quite comfortable.  
"Although it may seem that way.  But when my vampire nature first wakes, 
I am not fully aware, nor am I in control.  It isn't going to be safe 
for you to spend the night with me, B'Elanna.  Not ever again."
	She sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.  She 
wiggled her hips to rub against him intimately and breathed into his 
ear.  "That is wonderful!  How did you ever learn so much about Klingon 
romance!  It isn't exactly something you could have found anywhere in a 
book."  She stopped just breathing on him, and started nipping his neck.  
	Nick wasn't sure why he had so little control today.  He had 
allowed the vampire out in his room when he smashed the comm badge, and 
again when he smashed the mirror, and then again when he yelled at 
Neelix.  Now his fangs came down yet once more, gently scraping her 
neck.  A small trickle of blood dripped on the gray collar of her 
uniform.  It was fortunate that this uniform called for turtlenecks!  
	Nick tried briefly to stop.  "B'Elanna!  We're on duty!  Shouldn't 
we wait?"
	B'Elanna only laughed.  "Everyone gets to take a lunch break, 
Nick," she gasped, before pulling him onto the floor with her.  
	He took only a moment to call a security lock onto the door before 
allowing himself to succumb to her demands.  The last coherent thought 
that flitted across his mind was to add a small, soft area rug, soon.  
Then he became inexplicably locked with her mind, their thoughts 
entwined.  He saw visions of himself through her blood, of the two of 
them, as they bit and drank and kissed and made love on the floor of his 
new office.  
	Later, B'Elanna pulled her clothing back on and ran her fingers 
through her short, dark hair.  She tugged at the hem of her jacket.  
"So, have you had anyone in here yet?"
	"You mean, other than you?"
	She slapped at him playfully. "Like a client?"
	Nick shook his head.  B'Elanna did look glowing, he decided.  Her 
tawny complexion was almost radiant, her dark eyes sparkled with 
excitement, her cheeks were flushed and her lips full and red.  He bent 
to place another kiss on the small, new scabs at her throat.
	B'Elanna laughed, gently pushing him away.  "Lunch break is over, 
Nick.  I have to get back to work."
	"B'Elanna, we have to talk," he insisted.
	"Fine.  Tonight.  Will you join me for dinner?"
	Nick hesitated.  It wasn't that he didn't want to spend every 
possible moment with her, but rather that the scent of food cooking 
always turned his stomach.  He nodded.
	"See you then, at your quarters about 1800?  Bye!"
	She left and the door closed quietly behind her, but the scent of 
her blood, the scent of their passion, remained.  Nick inhaled deeply.  
Maybe, this wasn't such a bad job after all?
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	Chapter two: The Counselor
	
	
	Nick's next visitor was Crewman Paulus.  She was a tiny woman, 
barely even 150 centimeters to the top of her auburn hair.  Normally 
thin and wispy, she looked even more fragile, like she had not been 
eating well for some months.  The doctor had warned Nick that if he 
could not help her soon, she would have to be taken off active duty.  
Her eyes were olive green, wide set, and hauntingly rimmed with darker 
green eyelashes, in a pale golden complexion.  She was human, of human 
parents and grandparents, but somewhere in her ancestry there must have 
been some alien blood to create such exotic features.  Her husband was 
red haired and freckled, the picture of the "All-American" stereotype.  
Nick was curious, wondering whom their daughter resembled.
	"Won't you come in," he invited.
	Paulus took one step inside, just enough to allow the door to 
slide quietly shut.  She surveyed the room, then slowly walked around 
the perimeter, allowing slender, listless hands to touch every surface.  
Nick sat down, not wanting his much taller frame to intimidate this 
quiet person.  He clasped his hands in his lap.  Best not to show his 
nervousness at this encounter.  
	The music box played a few sweet notes when Paulus touched it.  
She startled, nearly dropping the fragile toy.  Tears flooded her eyes 
instantly.  "Oh, oh. I am so sorry," she whimpered.
	Nick covered her trembling hands with his own.  "That's okay.  
Nothing's wrong.  Here, let me play it for you."  To show her that the 
box was fine, Nick wound it up and set it back on the coffee table.  The 
hand-carved box depicted children's toys and pets, which circled around 
and around as the inner mechanism chimed a simple, lovely melody.  Nick 
swallowed, wondering if the reference to childhood would only hurt 
Paulus, who was already grieving for the daughter she had not seen in 
over four years.
	A slight smile flitted across her sad face.  "The song is lovely," 
she whispered.
	"Neelix brought it this morning.  He helped to decorate the entire 
room.  It's coming along, but I was going to invite you to contribute 
something, anything that you think the room needs."
	She started to shake her head, then paused.  "Something." 
	He had to keep her talking.  He didn't really know how to help 
her, but maybe if she talked long enough, he would figure it out.  
"Neelix suggested I needed a fish tank, but I don't see the attraction," 
he began.
	She smiled.  This time the smile didn't instantly disappear, 
either.  It remained until the end of her sentence.   "Not a fish tank, 
but. maybe a terrarium."
	"Terrarium?  Terras Vivarium-- land of life?"  Nick's Latin was 
rusty.  He had spoken it as a boy, but that was millennia ago.  The 
reference escaped him.
	"A terrarium is a little bit of home," she explained.  "It's a 
mini-environment, with soil, plants, sometimes a tiny animal or just a 
little figurine.  If you set it up correctly, it rains inside and 
requires almost no maintenance."
	Nick was pleased with the way her face became animated when she 
spoke.  "No work.  Sounds like my kind of plant.  Will you help me put 
it together?"
	She nodded.  Nick stood and held out his hand for her.  She 
hesitated, almost drawing back in upon herself, but then she placed her 
tiny hand in his.  Nick held it as he escorted her to the replication 
center several levels down.  
	Paulus hesitated when they stood before the replicators.  "But 
what about the rationing?  Should we waste the energy for this?"
	"Yes, we should," Nick said.  "Chakotay said the Captain wants me 
to fix the room up nice.  She gave me unlimited access today to do this.  
Now, what do we need."
	Paulus flipped through several images in the database for a 
container.  She located a clear duroplast rectangular box.  "This will 
work," she said. 
	"Good."  Nick programmed the replicator to send the item directly 
to his new office, so they wouldn't have to carry it there through the 
corridor.  Next, Paulus found a lid, with the growlight and internal 
structure to maintain the artificial clouds that would water the 
miniature earth for them.  She ordered up a bag of soil, some charcoal, 
sand, and gravel.  
	Next they went to the hydroponics bay to see if there were any 
appropriate little plants they could use.  Paulus pointed out several 
varieties and showed Nick how to make cuttings from them.
	"This should be enough for now," she said.  "We can always add to 
it later."
	"Fine."  Nick took her hand again, and together they returned to 
his office.  He didn't probe her to discuss her daughter, or her health, 
or her fears.  Instead, he allowed her to chatter on about the 
terrarium, explaining to him how it went together and why, as they 
worked to assemble it.   They knelt together on the floor, getting dirt 
under their fingernails and ground into the knees of their trousers.  
Sand and gravel went in first, with a layer of ground charcoal on top, 
then several inches of soil.  Paulus sculpted the soil into small hills 
and valleys.  She said it would create more visual interest than making 
it all flat.  Next the plants were set in, laying loosely on the 
surface, as she arranged and rearranged them, asking him how he thought 
they looked.  
	While they worked, their hands occasionally brushed together, or 
their shoulders touched.  Paulus was so engrossed in her project, that 
she lost her timidity.  In some ways, she reminded him of a little 
sister.  Not his Fleur, certainly, but he was beginning to feel very big 
brotherly towards her.  Several hours later the box was finished.  
Paulus lightly watered each plant, then placed the lid on top.  They 
both sat and admired their project in silence for several long minutes.
	A large tear formed at each corner of Paulus's olive green eyes.  
She wiped at them, smearing her cheeks with soil.  "I. I should be 
going," she whispered.
	Nick brushed at another tear with an equally dirty thumb.  "Thank 
you for your help with this.  You will have to come by often until the 
plants get established, to ensure their survival.  I don't have much 
luck with them."
	She nodded, unable to speak.
	Nick stood up and pulled her gently into his arms.  He laid her 
head against his chest, patting her gently on the back.  Paulus allowed 
the close contact.  Nick felt her warm, salty tears penetrate his jacket 
as she wept silently.  Then she straightened and pulled away from him.  
She touched his jacket, keeping her eyes downcast.  
	"I've got you all dirty," she apologized.
	"It's fine," he said.  "There's the restroom, if you'd like to 
wash up before you leave."  He indicated a door.  She nodded and slipped 
inside.  Shortly, she emerged, the dirt and tears washed away, and only 
sadness remained on her porcelain features.  
	"Thank you, Nick," she whispered.  "Shall I come again tomorrow at 
the same time?"
	"That would be fine.  But you can call me any time you wish, day 
or night.  Just, you'd better use the comm system, don't try to come to 
my room.  I tend to sleep pretty sound.  Okay?"
	She nodded and left.
	Nick watched her retreating form, thinking that this job might not 
be so bad after all.  It wouldn't be easy, but it was a welcome change 
to work with living mortals.  He had isolated himself for the past 
couple of centuries, sheltering himself from risk and pain.  He spent 
too much time alone..
	
	
	=============  Flashback,   Chicago 2042  ===============
	
	Nick yawned and rolled over, intending to hold her in his embrace.  
It was his custom.  Nearly every morning for the past forty years he had 
hugged her as the last of a good day's sleep drew to a close.  She was 
always there, to return his sincere love with her affection.
	At one time she had loved him.  He knew she did.  But that was 
before.  When she had still been a mortal, and he was something 
forbidden, something dark and sensuous, yet completely unattainable.  
For years she had helped him.  She drew blood samples.  She made noxious 
protein shakes.  She gave him pep talks when he was depressed, and she 
lectured him with a dose of reality whenever his enthusiasm got out of 
control.  And she was not afraid of him.  That had done more to help him 
feel like a mortal again, than all the medicines, all the ancient 
potions, all the gimmicks and tricks he had tried for almost a century.  
	Then she joined him, becoming a vampire, and they were finally 
able to consummate their love.  Then he started losing her.  He felt her 
slipping away from him.  He had always feared that would happen.  It was 
one reason why he had refused to bring her across, even though she asked 
it of him, again and again.  It was only a small reason, but there it 
was.  He hated being a vampire.  He wanted to change.  When she joined 
him, he lost his only colleague in his lonesome quest.    
	For forty years they had made a life together.  Nick was the rock, 
she was the paper.  He never changed.  He was solid, still the 
thirteenth century crusader, trying to live in a world gone mad with 
21st century morals, or lack of them.  He provided an income, working at 
a mortal job.  He made a mortal home.  He tried to emulate the life that 
was still beyond his grasp.
	She quit working altogether.  She cut herself off from all her 
mortal friends, as they were no longer of any interest to her.  She was 
a paper, able to bend and fold, to float on the breeze like a child's 
toy plane.  She covered him.  And he was lost.
	This morning, her side of the bed was empty.  
	There was no one to embrace.   
	He didn't have to arise and search to know that she was gone.  
Although she was not related to him by blood, he should still have 
sensed her presence.  He knew, as sure as he knew anything, that her 
clothes and all of her things were gone too.  She had moved on.  
	He had almost left her several times, back when she had still been 
mortal.  He would have left the same way.  Just one day she would come 
to the loft, and there would be no trace that he had ever once lived 
there.  But, something always held him back.  He truly did love her.  It 
was more than just the affection he always developed with the mortals 
who dared to call him friend.  He wanted to marry her!  He wanted to 
love her, to make love to her, and to bask in her love.  And so, he 
stayed.  After his partner Don Sckanke died in a plane crash, he stayed.  
After Janette left him again, when he made her his child, when he denied 
her a mortal's death, he stayed.  After the Fever that killed dozens of 
vampires, that nearly killed him, and shook his conviction that becoming 
mortal again was even desirable, he stayed.  But he had stayed too long.  
And now, he was the one to be left behind.
	He buried his face in her pillow, her scent still clinging to the 
satin sheet, and he wept bitterly.  He would never love again..
	
	================ end, flashback ==================
	
	
	It was a painful memory.   Those old wounds opened briefly, 
flooding him with the same sense of despair, desolation. betrayal.  He 
had grieved for her for a very long time.  He still got angry when he 
thought about her, implying that even three centuries later he had not 
fully forgiven her.  Although the cause of Paulus's depression was 
different in many ways, he felt that he could intimately relate to her 
feelings.  She had a loving husband here with her, but she grieved for 
her daughter.  For the past four years she had cut herself off from 
life, from the ability to experience any emotions, in an effort to keep 
from feeling the pain.  No despair, and no hope.  No misery and no joy.  
Now, probably triggered by a recent miscarriage, all the pain and 
repressed suffering had burst open again, like a festering wound.  Nick 
had to find a way to help her.  Maybe LaCroix would know something that 
could help him?  He swallowed the last dregs and tossed the empty bottle 
in to be recycled.
	The soft door chime startled him, but not half as much as the 
visitor.  Seven of Nine, the tall Borg woman, entered.  Her light blonde 
hair was swept up in a French Twist, which while attractive and feminine 
to most women, it only seemed to accentuate her severity.  She had 
lovely blue eyes that at times could almost look lost and vulnerable, 
but above one eye remained the metallic Borg implants.  Her full, red 
lips never parted in a friendly smile.  Much of the time she displayed 
about as much emotion as a Vulcan.  Nick wondered what a Vulcan Borg 
would be like.  Would there even be a difference?  
	Seven remained, standing straight and tightly controlled, just 
inside his office.  
	"Please, come in," Nick offered.  He would rather have told her to 
leave.  He was feeling tired, irritable, and more than just a little 
hungry.  Wasn't this enough for one day?  Only yesterday he had still 
been chained in sickbay.  
	Seven raised her eyebrows at him disdainfully.  "I am in."
	"So you are.  It is a human expression, implying that you should 
come in farther and sit down," Nick responded, the note of irritation 
creeping in to his voice.
	"Since you are not human, and I have no human memories, than let 
us dispense with such trivialities."
	Nick felt his control slip for an instant.  He drew a deep breath, 
and allowed the ship's filtered air to slowly escape through his lips as 
he regarded Seven more closely.  She clasped her hands behind her back, 
her posture imitated Tuvok's in many respects, except that Nick could 
sense she was not at all composed.  Her heart rate was accelerated.  Her 
blood pounded through her body. Nick felt his teeth begin to tingle.  He 
shook himself.  "You're frightened," he stated.  
	"And you require nourishment," she returned.
	He glanced at her with surprise.  The corner of her lips curved 
slightly and she nodded at him.  Point scored.  She was perceptive.  He 
would have to be very careful with her. 
	"So, what can I do for you?" he asked conversationally.
	"What can you do?"
	"I mean," Nick said, with a trace of irritation returning, "what 
do you want?"
	"What I want is irrelevant.  The doctor insists that I report 
here.  He anticipates that if I undergo <therapy> with you, I may 
reclaim more of my childhood memories concerning human behavior."
	"Therapy?  What sort of therapy," Nick said.  
	Her tone became condescending.  "You are the therapist.  You tell 
me."
	Nick paced the length of the room.  He knew he was inadequate for 
this position, but it did not help that Seven knew it too.  He didn't 
really know what Seven's problems were, and since her blood was too 
dangerous for him to even taste, he couldn't use it as a diagnostic 
tool.  He was on his own.  "Would you please sit down," he said, 
indicating a chair.
	"I fail to understand how sitting will aid in memory restoration."
	Nick whirled around glowering at her with eyes of amber.  The urge 
to bite something was becoming dangerously powerful.  Slowly he 
approached her, catching the sound of her rapid pulse. When all else 
failed, try hypnosis, he reasoned.  His eyes bore into hers.  For a 
moment her eyes widened. "You will sit down," he began.  Perhaps he 
could force her to open up.   
	Seven's Borg implants must have inhibited him somehow.  She 
refused to be hypnotized or intimidated.  "This session is terminated," 
she replied coolly.  She turned and walked from the room.
	Nick needed to hit something.  He swung a fist into the outer 
bulkhead, knowing that nothing else in the room would survive his 
strength.  The durosteel-reinforced bulkhead would withstand phaser fire 
and meteor showers.  It didn't even dent under his abuse.  He did manage 
to break two fingers, though.  The mild pain it caused was enough to 
bring his anger under control.  He left the room and headed towards 
sickbay.  Surely the doctor would agree with him, that he was useless as 
a counselor, and help him to convince the Captain to change his duty 
assignment again.  Even working for Tuvok would be preferable!  
	The doctor didn't even look up when Nick entered.  He continued 
with some research of his own, that Nick wouldn't even hazard a guess 
concerning its form and function.  He waited politely for thirty seconds 
before demanding the doctor's attention.  
	The doctor raised both eyebrows with an expression of surprise.  
Nick wondered at the curious nature of mortals, to create a potentially 
perfect lifeform, and give it all of humanity's weaknesses.  "I didn't 
know you were here, Mr. Knight," he stated, running a medical tricorder 
over Nick and adjusting its settings.  "My sensors still do not respond 
to your life signs.  How odd."
	"Because I have no life signs," he stated flatly.  
	"Yes, you do.  You have a pulse, even if it is too low to register 
on most equipment.  You have a body temperature, a heart rate. It will 
only take time to program them into my sensors, and then I will be 
alerted to your presence whenever you approach."
	"That's not why I came," Nick insisted, the anger and exasperation 
still evident in his tone.  "It's about Seven."
	"Ah, yes.  She has a similar effect on most of the crew.  I hold 
out hope that you will be able to help her though."
	"Why?  I'm not a counselor.  Surely you must know that."
	The doctor faced Nick with a stony look.  He folded his 
holographic arms across his chest in an intimidating posture.  Nick felt 
his hands grow clammy, and it irritated him even more to be dressed down 
by the inanimate object.  
	"Mr. Knight.  While I agree completely that you are untrained and 
unqualified for this position, I must admit that I am even more 
unqualified.  I have been programmed with dozens of texts of human 
behavior, psychology, psychiatry, psychoanalysis, mental disorders, and 
varied and assorted treatments.  Unfortunately, while I can diagnose and 
treat any physical ailment at the speed of a bioneural microprocessor, I 
am unable to diagnose most mental ailments, or to decide on which 
treatment would be best for which patient.  That kind of knowledge 
cannot be taught.  It comes from instinct, something the mortals have 
never been able to understand let alone to program it into a holographic 
physician.  Now.  I can teach you everything I know.  I can give you the 
texts and the textbook treatments.  But you already have the instinct.  
And everyone on this ship needs you.  They need you to get yourself 
under control, so that they can develop confidence that you will be 
there when they need you.  Comprende?"
	The anger left him.  Nick felt only very tired.  It irritated him, 
but the EMH was correct.  He nodded and turned to leave.
	"I don't recall dismissing you," the doctor snapped.
	Nick stared at him, open-mouthed.
	The doctor had his medical tricorder running again.  "It is 
imperative that I understand your physiology.  Every member of this crew 
must have a complete physical, and be certified fit for duty.  Yours 
will take longer, because I have nothing to compare it to.  I have no 
records on what a healthy vampire should be.  I will have to conduct a 
series of exams over a period of time.  What is your normal body 
temperature?"
	Nick shook his head, feeling the irritation build again.  "You 
kept me locked up in here for over a week!  I don't have to do this."  
He turned and marched from the room; the doctor's demands that he 
cooperate faded when the door hissed shut behind him.
	It was a little early for dinner, but he had missed lunch.  Maybe 
he could convince Neelix to let him feed.  He would need something, to 
regain the tenuous control he'd lost so many times today.  He hadn't 
gone far, when Tuvok approached him.  Nick wasn't too concerned.  The 
Vulcan would be the last person on the ship to require his services as 
counselor.  Tuvok stopped precisely one meter in front of Nick.  He 
stood erect, his shoulders square and his uniform creases absolutely 
perfect.  Tuvok always looked like he was at formal inspection.
	"The doctor reports that you disobeyed a direct order to comply 
with his medical evaluation."
	"Come on, Tuvok!  Give me a break.  I just spent the past week 
chained in his laboratory.  What more does he need?"
	"That is not up to a lieutenant to decide."
	"His questions are irrelevant--invasive--a violation of my rights.  
What business is it of his how often I urinate or what my rectal 
temperature is!  I don't get sick!  Phasers and bullets cannot harm me-- 
I do not need his services, and I certainly will not be his lab rat!"
	Nick's raised voice had drawn more than a few stares from hapless 
crewmates who just happened to be nearby.  When they saw with whom he 
was arguing, however, every one of them changed their minds about where 
they needed to be at that moment.  Nick knew he was digging his own pit 
deeper and deeper, yet he could not seem to calm himself.
	Tuvok remained unruffled.  He was unaffected by Nick's tirade.  
"Interesting.  Vampires experience the same emotion of embarrassment 
over simple biological functions as humans."
	"And you can't tell me that Vulcans don't!  I don't see you in 
sickbay!"
	"The first Vulcans to serve in Starfleet also submitted to the 
same medical evaluations, until a baseline of data was collected.  
Whether you experience pain or illness is irrelevant.  As a member of 
this crew, it is imperative that the doctor know all that he can about 
your normal physiology.  It is possible, that had he already obtained 
such knowledge, this past incident with the bone marrow parasite would 
have been diagnosed and treated far sooner.  The orders of a superior 
officer stand, regardless of personal inconvenience.  You shall return 
to sickbay at once."
	Nick's fangs descended, unbidden, the amber glow filled his eyes, 
shading Tuvok and the blue-gray corridor with golden tones.  He kept his 
mouth tightly compressed in a vain attempt to conceal his loss of 
control, but the tips of his fangs extended over his lower lip.  He 
examined his options quickly.  Hypnotizing the Vulcan was out.  Further 
disobedience would certainly land him back in the brig.  The only choice 
was to comply.  He turned sharply and marched back to sickbay, Tuvok 
accompanying him on the way.  Nick fumed at the feeling of being treated 
like a child.  Tuvok left him at sickbay. 
	He glowered at the doctor, complying with the order in form only 
and not in spirit.  He permitted the doctor to run his tricorder and his 
other sensors, but refused to answer any question.  He lay on the biobed 
like one dead.
	The doctor talked on and on.  He explained impatiently to Nick the 
importance of his work.  He tried several tactics to elicit the correct 
response, but Nick wasn't fooled.  At last the doctor dismissed him.  "I 
will be speaking with the Captain about your lack of cooperation, Mr. 
Knight."
	Nick bypassed the Mess Hall and went straight to his quarters.  
Neelix had been there.  The room was almost just as he had left it-- the 
bed still unmade, the mirror still broken-- but on the table next to his 
keyboard was a bottle of blood and a handwritten note.  "Sorry to have 
missed you at lunch.  Thought you might need this yet before dinner.  
Your friend, Neelix."
	Nick tore the cork from the bottle with his fangs and spat it 
across the room.  He held the bottle to his mouth, and sucked on it 
hungrily, greedily, like an infant to its mother's breast.  A small 
trickle escaped, dribbling down his chin, yet still he suckled the 
bottle, leaning his head back until the last of it had been drained.  
Then he wiped at the drip on his chin and licked it from his finger.  
	"Was it good for you, Nicholas?"
	Nick felt his father's presence again, as clear as it had been the 
first time he sensed him just about two weeks ago.  Why he could sense 
LaCroix's presence at this distance?  And why had he never sensed the 
ancient before in the past four years of his delta-quadrant banishment?  
It was strangely comforting, though, to resume the petty bickering with 
his master, the behavior patterns they had spent centuries forging 
together.  
	"What, LaCroix?"
	"That watered-down placebo of synthetic protein-enriched plasma 
you try to pass off as blood?"
	That made Nick laugh.  He tossed the empty bottle against the 
wall, laughing again at the satisfying sound it made as it shattered.  
"No, LaCroix.  It was not.  But then, I feasted at lunch.  And I had a 
feast last night."
	"Yes.  The lovely B'Elanna, I know," the ancient replied with 
disdain.
	"What do you know?"  Nick felt a cold finger on his spine.  His 
master could always read his thoughts.  It seemed that he always knew 
where Nick was, and what he was planning or what he'd been doing.  There 
were less than a handful of times in the past eleven centuries when Nick 
had managed to fool him.  
	"I would appreciate it," the older vampire said smoothly, 
accentuating each word as though it was a pearl of wisdom, something to 
be treasured.  ".If you would <close> our link whenever you partake of 
your new Klingon lover.  I find her much too sweet for my tastes.  And 
your newly kindled, voracious sexual appetite is somewhat annoying.  
Although, I suppose I should be grateful to her, for helping you to 
rediscover your true nature so--so. frequently."
	"You!  You!" Nick shouted.  He paced the small quarters, rage 
burning hotly, but he found no release.  "You were here with us?  Last 
night?"
	LaCroix laughed evilly.  "And this afternoon.  Really, Nicholas.  
On the floor, in the middle of a duty shift?  How delightfully decadent 
of you."
	Nick grabbed the closest chair and bashed it into the wall.  The 
material splintered, leaving only a sharp, jagged leg in his hand.  
"Stop it!  Don't ever invade into my private life again, or I'll. I'll 
kill myself right now!"  He turned the sharp stake inward, clutching it 
with trembling hands.  
	For only an instant the ancient one severed his link.  Nick was 
standing alone in the room, with no one's thoughts but his own, a 
strange and lonely experience.  Then LaCroix returned.  He tone was 
patronizing.  
	"Don't be ridiculous, Nicholas.  The stake is not made of wood.  
You will do no permanent damage with it."
	Nick stared at the splintered chair leg, then let it drop to the 
floor.  Damned mortals!  Life was so much simpler, once!   When vampires 
could fly before the moon without being caught on radar or videotape and 
when chair legs were made of wood. 
	"But Nicholas, I will permit you your privacy," conceded LaCroix.  
"I am much too old to find amusement in your base animal ruttings.  It 
is you who must close the link."
	"How?"
	 The ancient was at a loss for words.  "Nicholas.  Didn't I ever 
teach that to you?"
	"No."  Nick sank on the corner of his bed and sulked.
	LaCroix sighed.  "Yes, yes.  You have been denied so much, because 
of your extended rebellious period of adolescence.  But now I will teach 
you this."
	Nick sat very still, listening, absorbing, practicing, to master 
the new skill.  It left him very, very hungry.  
	"Yes, Nicholas.  This can be rather draining to maintain.  You 
would be wise to exercise this new skill only when absolutely necessary, 
and to keep an extra bottle around.  
	Nick lay back on his bed and closed his eyes.  He was so weary.  
Just a few moments would help so much.  "LaCroix?"
	"Yes, my son?"  The ancient master's voice was soothing, almost 
lulling.  Nick could almost see the smile tugging at LaCroix's lips. 
	"Thank you.."
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	Chapter Three: Team Player
	
	"Nick? Are you awake yet?"  
	Nick rubbed his eyes and tried to remember where he was.  His 
quarters on Voyager.  He was on his bed, fully dressed.  The sweet voice 
on his comm called to him again.  He tapped it and responded.  "Knight 
here."
	"You stood me up," she teased.  "Must've been pretty tired.  I 
guess it has been rather rough for you lately.  Just don't do it again."
	"B'Elanna," he said.  "Dinner, 1800."
	"That was yesterday, Nick.  How 'bout breakfast before your first 
staff meeting?  I'll be over shortly."
	Still groggy, he nodded, even though she could not have seen his 
gesture over the small communications device.  It didn't matter.  She 
had terminated the conversation already.  Nick rose, rubbing a kink from 
his neck, and headed for the shower.  
	He felt more in control this morning, in spite of the ache of 
hunger in his gut.  The uninterrupted night of sleep, alone in his bed, 
had done him a lot of good.  When he emerged from the shower, fully 
dressed and toweling his damp hair, B'Elanna had already arrived.  She 
gestured at the broken mirror, the shattered green bottle, the rumbled 
bed, which he had slept on top of, and the ruined chair.  "Wow.  Looks 
like a great fight.  Who won?"
	"I did," he answered huskily, pulling her in for a kiss.  
	B'Elanna giggled, wiggling in his arms.  "Nick!  This is serious!  
The mirrors are fairly indestructible.  You'd have to hit one pretty 
hard for it to shatter.  Want to tell me what it's about?"
	He kept his arms around her, nuzzling her neck.  He loved the way 
her pulse raced when he was near.  Stepping in front of the mirror, he 
turned her around.  Two lovers both dressed in black, but only one 
reflection, fragmented in the starburst pattern of shattered glass.  
	B'Elanna gasped.  "Nick!  How'd you do that?"
	He just shrugged.  He teased her ear lobe with his tongue, staring 
at her reflection.  He rubbed her abdomen with one hand.  Her jacket was 
pulled aside revealing her smooth stomach, but his hand was invisible in 
the mirror.  B'Elanna stared at her own reflection.  She leaned into his 
embrace, oddly aroused by the phantom hands that played and tantalized 
her.
	"It is part of the curse," Nick whispered seductively.  "We are 
the damned, the creatures of the night.  We can not exist. We have no 
soul, no reflection, no future.  We have only an eternal now."  
	B'Elanna tilted her head to expose her throat for him.  Nick 
needed no further encouragement.  He sank his fangs into her willing 
flesh.  She filled him instantly, her pulse raced, spurting the thick 
lilac blood faster than he could swallow.  She wrapped her arms around 
his head and held him tight, a moan of pure ecstasy escaping her lips.  
	Nick sensed his master's presence for an instant.  He didn't 
really understand the link that they shared; he never had.  He hadn't 
thought much about it before, about the link being always open.  In the 
past, if he thought about LaCroix, he could find a familiar place in his 
mind, and he would sense his master. He could sense LaCroix's general 
state of mind, and he could locate him, following the link.    Nick 
could never really read LaCroix's thoughts, at least not as accurately 
as LaCroix could read his.  But apparently, even when he didn't seek 
LaCroix, that link was still open. It permitted LaCroix free access to 
him, to invade his thoughts at any moment.  This link seemed to grow 
stronger with time, but it used to be weakened by distance, and it was 
always the strongest when Nick was in real trouble. LaCroix had always 
known when his very existence was in danger, and had come to his rescue.  
So what made it so strong now?  
	The skill he recently learned, to shut off himself from this 
connection with LaCroix, felt awkward and clumsy.like trying to 
concentrate on giving himself a headache.  And it reminded him how very, 
very hungry he was.  He'd missed consuming any real blood for 24 hours 
now, and had only had one bottle of the replicated plasma.   He forced 
himself to withdraw from B'Elanna's throat and he licked at the small 
trickle of blood until it ceased to flow.  
	B'Elanna turned around in his arms and hugged him tight.  "You owe 
me," she said.  She rubbed against him intimately, insuring that he 
understood her demand.  Then she pulled away from him and tugged on her 
jacket.  "Come on, or we'll miss breakfast."
	Mess Hall was thinning out.  Nick smiled at Neelix and thanked him 
politely, as he accepted the mug of human blood from him, and the large, 
warmed bottle of replicated filler.  He led B'Elanna to the table at the 
back corner.  It was darker, and one of the more private tables in the 
public eating room.  He and B'Elanna often ate here, now.  Oddly enough, 
many of the crew avoided this particular table, as though he had hung 
his own "reserved" sign on it!  Perhaps they were just being polite, 
remembering what it was like to be in love. 
	B'Elanna was exquisite.  Nick's teeth tingled and he felt a warmth 
spreading through him.  
	"Nick!" she exclaimed.   
	He looked at her with surprise.  "What?"
	"Your teeth, your eyes!  Don't do that here!  Not now, we have to 
be at the meeting shortly."
	Nick grinned, trying to hide his embarrassment.  He hadn't even 
been aware of the change that desiring her had brought about.  He 
chugged the rest of the warm liquid in his coffee mug.  "Then, don't sit 
so close to me," he whispered huskily into her ear.  He felt pleased 
with himself as he heard her pulse quicken, and saw the blush stain her 
cheeks, glad to know that he affected her as well.  
	She brought her dishes back to the wall receptacle.  "Come on.  We 
might as well get this over with."
	An odd choice of words, Nick thought.  He had never been to a 
staff meeting before.  He had been an insignificant underling, 
restlessly biding his time at mundane tasks, wondering how he was ever 
going to last the seventy-five years it would take to return home.  Now, 
he was the counselor and historian.  Janeway expected him to attend 
staff meetings, participate in away missions whenever possible, and take 
a more active role in their mission.  He was glad for the promotion and 
the added interest, but also more than a little apprehensive.  
	
	(end part three)
	
	Twelve people knew about him.  That was eleven more than he had 
ever allowed to retain that knowledge in the past.  Twelve people, whom 
he was likely to forge strong bonds with, if this journey lasted even a 
fourth as long as expected.  And it would be his responsibility to 
ensure that they did not have any memory of him once they arrived.  He 
would have to wipe their memories clean, all their logs, all ship's 
records, the hologram's records, or he would have to kill them so that 
they would take their knowledge to the grave.  If Nick failed, the 
Enforcers would finish the task for him, brutally.  And they would 
destroy Nick as well, for his carelessness.  
	B'Elanna paused just outside the door to the conference room to 
tug on her jacket and pull out imaginary wrinkles.  
	"Should we go in separately," Nick asked.
	She smiled at him,  "Why?"
	Nick fumbled for words.  "Ah, so. people don't get the wrong 
ideas. about you and me?"
	B'Elanna laughed.  "And what would be the wrong idea, Nick?"  She 
seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.  She let Nick squirm a moment 
longer.  "Nick, everyone "knows" all ready.  We wouldn't be fooling 
anyone but ourselves."  
	Nick looked genuinely surprised.  Life had been simpler once, he 
knew it had!  Once privacy had meant something.
	"Relax," she said, slapping his arm with a friendly punch.  "But, 
don't sit next to me in there.  I have to pay attention."  Then she 
stepped close enough to open the door and entered.
	Nearly everyone else was already inside waiting, and 
unfortunately, the only two chairs still available were side by side, 
and the one for the captain at the head of the table.  Nick sat down 
stiffly, his lips slightly parted to permit him to breathe through his 
mouth whenever breathing became necessary.  Then hopefully he would not 
be distracted by the nearness of her scent.  
	Janeway was the last to arrive.  She was a petite woman, but no 
one was ever fooled by her size.  The very air around her seemed 
magnetically charged.  Whenever she entered a room, all eyes turned to 
her.  When she paced with frustration or irritation, everyone seemed to 
hold their breath, hoping fervently that they were not at the receiving 
end of her ire.  Even Chakotay was not unaffected by her, Nick realized 
with surprise.  He knew his friend had feelings for the Captain.  He 
could hear Chakotay's heart pick up a beat whenever he talked about her.   
Nick noticed the way Chakotay's eyes seemed to turn a shade lighter and 
his normally composed, unflappable expression turned upward at the 
corners of his lips when Janeway was near.  Nick stared at the Captain 
with renewed insight.  So maybe she was over a millennium younger than 
he was.  She had learned something he couldn't even define.  She was a 
leader.
	Janeway was an irritated leader this morning.  Nick thought about 
his poor behavior all day yesterday and knew she had to have heard about 
it by now.  Undoubtedly Tuvok, Seven, the doctor, and even Chakotay, had 
filed less than admirable reports.  Nick only hoped that she would wait 
for a private moment before giving him hell.  
	She never sat.  She stood behind her chair with her hands gripping 
into the cushioned fabric cover.  Her words were carefully chosen.  
"Lieutenant Knight, on behalf of everyone here, let me extend a warm 
welcome." 
	Nick stared at her expectantly.  He knew she was upset with him, 
and yet, he was the only one in the room to notice.  Her tone was 
controlled, her words professional.  Only her heart rate gave her 
away.something the others would not detect.  Nick nodded humbly.  "Thank 
you, Captain."
	"You have been doing an admirable job with your history up until 
we discovered Primia.  Then, I realize, that illness interrupted your 
work.  What do you know about our current situation?"
	Nick thought hard.  Primia had been mostly a scientific side-trip.  
It hadn't been  much out of their way, and it was very much like what 
many paleontologists hypothesized Earth had been in the very distant 
past.  And so, Janeway had authorized the side trip, gathering data she 
knew could prove invaluable to researchers when they returned home.  
They had gathered some food while on Primia, although the food 
scavenging had definitely played second fiddle to the research.  Nick 
didn't know anything more than that, and that information was widely 
available.  
	In writing his history of the crew, he had generally just tapped 
in to the public records.  Sometimes, when the information was 
especially intriguing, he would break into places he had no clearance to 
be, but he didn't want to advertise yet another transgression.  
	"Not much, Captain," he admitted truthfully.  
	Janeway nodded to Neelix, giving him the honor to explain.
	Neelix began, voicing his concerns.  "The foodstuffs we gathered 
from Primia are incomplete.  While they are rich in some nutrients, they 
are totally void in others.  Specifically, they contain no vitamin C or 
D- probably a result of growing without sunlight.  Our other food 
supplies are getting very low.  We can supplement them with replicated 
foods, if we cancel all private replicator use."
	B'Elanna shook her head.  "We should cancel replicator use any 
way.  We're running dangerously low on deuterium."
	"Deuterium?" Nick asked.  They replicated food out of something as 
unappetizing as deuterium?  "Isn't that like gas?"
	The blank stares of the entire assembled crew focused on him.  
Nick wished he'd kept quiet.  
	"Deuterium is a liquid, Nick," B'Elanna explained quietly.
	"I know that," he said.  "So was gas- gas was a flammable, toxic 
liquid once used to power vehicles.  It fell from use in the 21st 
century."
	Kim nodded with excitement, not the least concerned to have the 
staff meeting sidetracked with another of Nick's living history lessons.  
"Why would they call a liquid a gas?"
	"Short for gasoline, I guess," Nick answered, shrugging.  He 
wasn't really a walking encyclopedia.  He could tell them all about TVs, 
VCRs, telephones and pagers, because he had used them in the past. but 
he couldn't even begin to explain the technology behind how they worked.  
"So you use deuterium to replicate food?  No wonder it tastes so. 
strange."
	B'Elanna stared at him.  How could anyone not know how replicators 
worked?  They had been around for almost a century!  
	Kim was neither shocked nor surprised.  Instead he launched into a 
brief explanation. "We don't consume the deuterium, either, Nick.  It 
powers the impulse drive, and many of the ship's other systems, 
including the food replicators. Raw food stock components are stored, 
until the phase transition coils dematerialize them, then the main 
computer provides matrix data, and with technology very similar to 
molecular transportation, the food materializes at the replicator 
terminal.  Some of the ship's systems run off the dilithium crystals, 
which power the warp drive.  We can cross-link most systems, to run from 
either drive, depending on which ever power source we happen to be 
running short of, but the food replicators cannot run off the warp drive 
safely."
	Neelix finished the explanations.  "So, we're running short on 
food, and deuterium, at the same time.  We must replace at least one or 
the other before we go much farther."
	Captain Janeway flipped on a viewer behind her and indicated it as 
she spoke.  "We are at a crossroads.  This way is more direct,  but as 
you can see, it is sparsely populated.  Our initial long range scans 
suggest only two class-M planets, and they are quite a distance away; it 
is impossible to tell if there are any deuterium deposits on our long-
range scans, and there are no spacefaring races to trade with, or to 
fight with.  This other route, however, adds at least two months on to 
our journey.  It has nine class-M planets, and a race known as the 
Buliga, with warp capabilities.  We don't know much about them, only 
that they have conducted interstellar trade in the past and they aren't 
currently at war with anyone that we know about."
	"Captain, what about sending a communications probe on ahead, to 
contact the Buliga--let them know we are coming, and ask if they're 
willing to trade deuterium?"  This came from Ensign Kim.
	She shook her head.  "I prefer to deal with new contacts in 
person.  There are too many variables at stake to run the risk of 
offending them."
	Nick found his attention wandering.  He hadn't really been aware 
of all the difficulties Voyager faced on the day to day basis.  Most of 
the crew operated in the dark.  They went about their tasks, performing 
what was expected of them, and trusting their captain to get them home 
safely.  Nick felt rudely awakened, and more than a little embarrassed 
that at his age he could still be so na‹ve.  
	"It's settled, then," Janeway finished.  "Mr. Paris, plot in the 
new course and heading.  Chakotay, we'll be flying at high warp for 
three weeks, no stops and no leaves, so you may need to find ways to 
keep the crew focused.  Some of them can catalog the data collected from 
Primia. I don't want any one becoming bored and inefficient.  
Dismissed."
	The other officers rose, pushed in their chairs and filed out of 
the room.  Nick hesitated, anticipating Janeway's lecture, so he was 
surprised to hear her call out Chakotay's name.  She was definitely 
upset, but could he be mistaken about her reasons?  B'Elanna waited for 
him in the corridor.  Slowly, Nick joined her, still amazed to be off 
the hook.   
	
	
	Chakotay waited until the door had closed completely.  "Yes, 
Captain?"
	Janeway picked up six padds, shuffled them, sorted them, and 
tossed them back on the table in front of her first officer.  "Conduct 
unbecoming an officer, arguing with a senior officer. Disobeying a 
direct order, uncontrolled behavior, late for work, destruction of 
Starfleet property--these are just a few of the more colorful reports I 
have had concerning Knight, and that after just one day's work!  Give me 
one good reason why I shouldn't throw him back in the brig immediately."
	"Because that would be unfair, Captain," Chakotay calmly replied.
	"Unfair!  Fairness has nothing to do with this.  Starships are run 
by rules and regulations, designed to keep the ship running 
smoothly.rules which Knight isn't making any effort to comply with."
	"Captain, perhaps he is unsure of the rules."
	"Then get him an instruction manual!"  She was fuming.
	Chakotay kept the emotion from his voice, responding to her with 
cool patience. "Consider Paulus.  After the crash, as she lay in 
sickbay, you didn't order her right back to work.  Even after the 
parasite was eliminated, you still knew she was not fully recovered.  
You knew this because she is human, mostly.  Even if she'd been Vulcan, 
or Klingon, or any other alpha quadrant native, you could have asked the 
EMH how long he would expect it would be before she was fully recovered.  
Nick doesn't have that option."
	"Are you suggesting that I pushed him back to work too soon?  That 
all he needs is  little more time off, and these reports of atrocious 
behavior will cease?"  Janeway wasn't buying  word of it.
	Chakotay would have to try a different tactic.  He thought he knew 
what the problem was, but he wasn't saying it very well.  He wished 
Kathryn had chosen to discuss this in her ready room, casually, among 
friends, rather than in here, as his commanding officer.  "Captain, we 
are all working in the dark.  We don't know what to expect from Nick, 
and I'm not sure he knows what is expected of him."
	"He's a big boy, Chakotay.  He's been around for a long time, I 
hear."
	"Yes, Captain.  And how confusing that must be for him!  The rules 
keep changing!  Think of all the changes in the past three or four 
centuries- an eyeblink for a man who can recall the Sixth Crusade as 
easily as what he did before breakfast. Why even for most of his life, 
women were forbidden to wear pants, speak in public, and hold  positions 
of leadership."
	Janeway considered that point for a moment.  She had only thought 
that a man as old as Nick claimed to be, should be a lot wiser than he 
acted.  She hadn't thought about how confusing it could be, to have so 
many changes in one lifetime.  He hadn't even known how a simple 
replicator functioned.  He had lived before warp travel!  Hell, he had 
even lived before airplanes and automobiles.  She couldn't even imagine 
what that must have been like.  "So what do you suggest, Chakotay.  I 
can't just ignore these reports.  I can't discipline one crewmember for 
disobedience, then ignore the next.  That's a sure way to mutiny."
	"Perhaps, you should treat this like a First Contact."
	Janeway stared at him.  She opened her mouth before thinking, and 
sputtered the words.  "First contact!  That's absurd!  He's been living 
with us all of his life, this is nothing like first contact."
	"I beg to disagree.  For us, it is our first contact.  Until a few 
days ago, we didn't even know his race existed.  Now, we still know 
precious little.  We don't know what is normal for him.  We can't 
predict how his kind will react to stress, or sleep deprivation, or even 
space travel.  Don't treat him as just another member of a Starfleet 
crew, but rather as a new alien race.  Appoint a liaison, a go-between, 
to act as a buffer between him and the rest of us.  Someone who will 
make it his duty to get to understand Nick, his needs and his 
behaviors."
	Janeway rubbed the back of her neck, a habit that implied she was 
actually considering his request.  Chakotay remained silent as he 
waited.
	"Is Nick in agreement?"
	"I don't know, Captain.  Generally we have never asked a new alien 
race for permission to make first contact before we contacted with them.  
That would imply that first contact was actually second contact."
	Janeway smiled wanly, shaking her head at him.  He always had a 
point.  
	"I will try it your way.  For now.  And I appoint you his liaison.  
But, I don't  ever want to see this big a stack of complaints against 
any one member of my crew again.  Understood?"
	Chakotay nodded.  That would be easy enough.  Those reports should 
have been brought to him first, anyway.  She wouldn't see them again.  
Janeway passed the reports over.  "But Captain, I was thinking more of 
assigning this to Ensign Kim.  He's already read most of Nick's diary, 
which gives him a head start."
	Janeway shook her head.  "This is too important to leave with a 
rookie.  And with his hero-worship infatuation, I wouldn't count on Kim 
to keep this professional.  I want you on it.  Personally.  And you can 
contact all these people and reassure them that the situation is being 
handled."
	Chakotay nodded stiffly.  It was going to be a very, very long 
day.
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	Chapter Four:  Assaulted
	
	Chakotay returned to his quarters.  He had many things to discuss 
with Nick, and he would need to clarify his thoughts before confronting 
him.  To start with, he needed to select the best location.  Not his 
quarters.  He tried to keep it separate from his identity as First 
Officer.  Friends were always welcome, but work was not.  And the ready 
room was too intimidating.  Nick's office was to be his domain, and 
Chakotay did not want to trespass.  He needed neutral ground, some place 
where they could go together and yet be assured of privacy.  
	
	He sat cross-legged on the floor, closed his eyes, and allowed his 
thoughts to reach out beyond the confines of his consciousness.  
	He had known Nick for a long time.  They had fought together in 
the Maquis, but even before that. many years ago he had known him.
	Nick had lived on his home world for a time.  Chakotay had been a 
boy, of eleven or twelve, and Nick had been the same as he was today.   
Chakotay hadn't ever really wondered about Nick's eternally youthful 
face. many races had longer lifespans than his people did.  Vulcans 
lived around two and a half to three centuries!  
	Chakotay had only wondered why anyone would choose to live alone, 
in such primitive conditions, when nothing prevented him from a much 
more desirable life of technology and adventure!  Chakotay's people had 
left earth to found a new colony on distant planet that just happened to 
become part of the demilitarized zone later during the Cardassian 
conflict.  Chakotay's thoughts drifted back, to the time when he stood 
on a threshold of maturity and Nick was an archeologist, a guest among 
his people.  
	
	Nick came, bringing gifts - archeological finds from Earth - to 
his father.  The people were so pleased over the collection of broken 
pottery and artifacts in a way that made Chakotay faintly ill.  How 
could they possibly find anything interesting in such a bunch of junk?  
He hated his life here!  He wanted desperately to go somewhere, 
anywhere, and learn!  His playmates were no longer fun.  They were 
adopting the ancient ways of his people.  Soon they would marry, make 
families, and enslave their own children to this go-nowhere existence.  
He wanted none of it!
	That night, dressed like one of the people, Nick had gone on the 
hunt.  They slew a wild boar and drank its blood.  The moonlight 
reflected oddly in Nick's eyes as he drank.  He was so different from 
Chakotay's people, skin that was white as death contrasted to their 
darker coloring, eyes that were often pale blue but sometimes tinged 
with gold, when nearly every one of his people had eyes of solid brown 
or black.
	Later, the boar was roasted over a campfire.  Nick sat between 
Chakotay's father, Leader of the people, and Simpac, Spiritual leader.  
It was a position of highest honor.  Nick spoke in the ancient language, 
quite fluently, speaking it better than most of the elders, and he 
narrated stories all through the night. 
	He passed around a cup of carved jade, and shared a legend of it's 
past. It was used to drink the blood of sacrificed victims. Chakotay 
knew that his people had a violent, bloody heritage.  It would have been 
interesting to know them then, they seemed too placid and peaceful now 
by comparison.  Chakotay squirmed on the outskirts of the gathering.  He 
didn't want to be a part of this archaic ritual, this continual looking-
back.  But Nick's stories were captivating.  They were different from 
the childish moral lessons that his father often related.  These sounded 
like true stories, about people who really lived, and Nick told them 
with such sincerity, as though he had actually met and talked with these 
long-dead ancestors.  Chakotay found himself being drawn to Nick.  
	Quite late, when sunrise was only two hours away, Nick rose.  The 
night had grown chilly, the fire had died down, and yet there was no 
sign of discomfort on his face.  No chill raised the hair on his bare 
chest and arms.  Chakotay's father glanced at him, then spoke softly to 
Nick.  He knew they talked about him, and he felt his irritation 
mushroom.  He was not some recalcitrant child any more!  He deserved to 
be treated like a man!  He approached them purposefully.
	"My son's heart is troubled.  He finds no solace in the ways of 
our people," his father said sadly.  
	"Perhaps, he would like to come with me for a while," suggested 
Nick.  "We would journey together.  My heart is often troubled, as 
well."
	Chakotay bristled as he saw his father consider Nick's request.  
He felt like the older man was pawning him off because he could no 
longer control him.  Yet, some time spent away was just what he wanted--
although he would prefer to spend it off planet.
	He went with Nick.  The pale man seemed to be in a great hurry 
after the decision had been made.  Together they set off on foot for the 
river's edge, then continued their trek by canoe.  Nick was stronger 
than he looked.  The canoe moved swiftly upstream with each stroke of 
the paddle.  Nick glanced often at the eastern horizon and spoke little 
during the journey.  When he did talk, he spoke to Chakotay with the 
same manner as he had to his father.  He didn't treat him like a child 
at all, but rather as an equal.  Chakotay felt some of his defensiveness 
melt away with the coming dawn.
	Nick pulled the canoe to the shore.  Chakotay could see a simple 
wooden structure in a clearing very near the river.  Nick led him there.  
The structure was not like the homes of his people, but it was simple 
and archaic in design.  Chakotay realized that Nick adhered to the 
spirit of his people-- forsaking modern technology-- even if his ways 
were somewhat different.  Nick dashed inside.  Chakotay caught a whiff 
of smoke.  He scanned the woods but saw nothing.  Then he followed Nick.
	Inside it was very dark.  All of the windows were shuttered and as 
the door closed behind Chakotay the house went completely black.  He 
could hear Nick move around, but even as his eyes adjusted to the dark, 
he couldn't make out much.  He smelled sulfur, then saw a small light as 
Nick struck a match and held it to a candle.  The house was small and 
simple, but comfortably neat.  It had a fireplace, a hand-made wooden 
table with two benches, shelves with books.  Nick indicated a couch.  
"You may sleep there," he said.  "My bed is in the other room.  I sleep 
during the day, as I must stay out of the sun.  If you chose to get up 
before dark, you may, and don't worry about being quiet as I sleep 
rather soundly.  Then, tonight maybe we could go fishing?"
	Chakotay smiled.  Not only was he being treated like an adult, but 
apparently, he would be given more personal freedom as well.  He nodded.  
Nick then went into the back room.  It surprised Chakotay when Nick 
locked the door behind him.  Well, different people had different 
customs, he thought, and went to sleep.
	He spent almost an entire season with Nick.  Together, they went 
fishing and hunting, they swam, they hiked through the woods and up to 
the top of the ridge.  They sat up all night just talking.  Nick was a 
good listener.  He let Chakotay talk about his feelings, his anger at 
the ways of his people, and Nick never  seemed to judge him.  He didn't 
try to give him advice, either.  He just listened, which was all 
Chakotay really wanted him to do.  
	There seemed to be a sadness about Nick, too.  His eyes often 
looked unfocused, as though he visited on a different plane of 
consciousness.  Chakotay felt something for Nick.  He could not explain 
it.  The man was older than him, but treated him like a brother.  He 
wanted to join with him, as blood brothers.  He wasn't sure how to ask 
it of Nick, though.  Then sometimes, he would catch Nick watching him, 
with such a dark look, such longing.  Chakotay wondered about it. Never 
being one to hedge around the truth, he asked Nick to explain it 
outright.
	Nick laughed.  For a brief moment, there was joy in his face.  "I 
see, that although you stand on the threshold, you have not yet lost the 
wisdom of childhood!"
	Chakotay felt his face flush.  "Why!" he demanded.
	Nick drank deeply from an animal skin.   His eyes seemed go 
unfocused, and Chakotay wondered if he was going to respond at all.  
Then, he looked directly at him.  "Chakotay.  I cannot have children.  
So I can only enjoy the children of others.  And I will never forget 
this summer."
	The next day, Nick slept fitfully.  Chakotay could hear him 
thrashing about in his room, crying out in a strange, alien language.  
He knocked on the door, but could not wake him.  The door was still 
bolted fast.  Even after he had spent several months with Nick, he had 
not trusted him enough to leave it unlocked.  But Nick sounded really 
sick or in pain.  Chakotay banged on the door, and called out to him.  
Then he went for the ax to break the lock.  Just as he swung it back, 
the door opened.  
	Nick looked terrible.  His forehead was covered with beads of dark 
red sweat, his eyes were haunted and frightened.  "We must leave at 
once," he said.  "You must return to your father immediately."
	Chakotay put down the ax.  "Why?  You don't look well, we should 
wait a few days.  Are you sick?"
	"No time for questions!  Come, at once!"
	Nick threw open the door, but he jumped backwards as the last rays 
of the setting sun spilled inside.  He stood in the shadow of the door, 
ready to bolt.  
	"I'm not going anywhere," Chakotay said obstinately, "until you 
tell me why."
	Nick stared at him with eyes of amber.  He looked dangerous, but 
not angry. It was the look of a wild animal, one cornered and caught, 
forced to fight for its life.  Chakotay did not know what he was afraid 
of.
	"My father is coming," Nick answered.
	Chakotay was even more confused.  He shrugged indifferently.
	"It is not safe here for you!  He will hurt you, and I cannot 
protect you from him.  You must go now!"
	Chakotay crossed his arms across his chest resolutely.  "I will 
not run and hide.  I am not afraid."
	Nick grabbed his shoulders.  The grip was powerful, small bruises 
formed.  He stared fiercely into Chakotay's eyes.  The sound of a heart 
beating grew louder, thundering in his ears.  
	"Obey!" Nick said firmly, then turned back toward the door.
	
	The memory ended abruptly.  The next thing Chakotay recalled was 
waking up at home and telling his parents about some of the many 
adventures he had shared with Nick.  He could not recall how he had 
arrived at home.  He could not even tell his parents where Nick had 
gone, but he never saw Nick again until six years ago when he was the 
captain of  a Maquis ship, rescuing some escaped Cardassian prisoners.
	The lack of memory bothered him.  He sensed fear, pain, regret.  
He sensed that the memory was there, but somehow repressed.  The doctor 
had said something about Nick having the ability to hypnotize people.  
Chakotay cleared his mind, relaxed, and waited for the memories to 
resurface.
	
	"Obey!" Nick had said. That was the moment of hypnosis.  In one 
word, Chakotay was trapped.  His will was no longer his own.  He felt 
angry, violated and betrayed.  The memory started to fade under his 
strong emotional battle.  Chakotay willed his mind to clear again.
	
	"Obey!" Nick said.  He turned back toward the door, with Chakotay 
still in his grip.  But the door was blocked.  A tall, cloaked stranger 
filled the doorway.  His face was concealed in a hood.  He was even 
taller than Nick.   A deep, menacing voice boomed from the dark shadow.  
"Nicholas!"
	Nick backed away, pulling Chakotay behind him.  Chakotay tried to 
peer around him, curious to catch a glimpse of this man he called 
father.  Nick gave him a push towards the window.  "Run!" he cried.  
"Run home, now!"
	The stranger threw back his hood, revealing a face as pale as 
death and contorted with rage.  "Stay," he commanded.  The word was 
compelling.  Chakotay found he could not move.  He watched the events 
play out, unable to think or to react.  He was not paralyzed by fear, 
but rather by some outside force.  The evil visitor had cast some kind 
of spell on him.  
	"LaCroix!  You're issue is with me, not the boy!  Let him go!"  
	LaCroix laughed.  The sound was dripping with contempt.  "Issue, 
Nicholas!?"  He drew back his hand and struck Nick across the face.  The 
force of the blow lifted him off the floor, sending him crashing against 
the far wall.  Dark blood oozed from his mouth as he slumped to the 
floor.  Then LaCroix trained his blood red eyes on Chakotay.  
	Nick flew in between them.  He staggered a little, spreading his 
arms as though to wrap Chakotay in a safety field.  The man struck Nick 
again and again, tossing him about like a mean dog worrying a rat before 
the kill, and Nick, broken and bleeding, kept crawling back for more, 
pleading for Chakotay's life.  The table overturned, the benches 
smashed.  LaCroix shoved Nick through the window, shattering glass and 
boards. Still, Chakotay stood rooted to the floor, mesmerized by the 
horrific scene.  They spoke in their own language.  Chakotay could not 
follow the words, but only  gather meaning by their tone.  Nick had done 
something to anger the father, who then hunted him down to seek revenge.  
	When the little cottage was in shambles, and Nick lay crumbled in 
a bloodied heap, LaCroix grabbed Chakotay, bared his teeth and prepared 
to sink them in his neck.  Nick grabbed a wooden spike, splintered from 
the table, and held it over his own chest, preparing to kill himself.  
Then clearly, distinctly, he exclaimed, "Harm the boy, and I will end 
this now!  I swear it, I will!"
	LaCroix hesitated.  He growled at Nick, but again the words were 
incomprehensible.
	Nick choked, vomiting dark red blood.  Chakotay stared, horrified 
yet strangely fascinated at the same time.  Briefly, Nick's eyes 
fluttered.  He almost passed out, but then he strengthened the hold on 
the instrument of his own death.  "Release him, or I die!"
	LaCroix tossed Chakotay towards Nick.  He sneered.  "Always so 
melodramatic. my son," he said, his words filled with hate. 
	Nick wrapped an arm around Chakotay's shoulder and struggled to 
his feet, still clutching the wooden stake.  Chakotay looked deeply into 
Nick's eyes.  They were golden, but fading to blue, and Nick was near to 
losing consciousness.  Quickly, he locked onto Chakotay, and altered his 
memory.  "You will not remember this," he said.  "We had. a good summer.  
you will go to your father now,  and never return to this place.."
	
	
	Chakotay gasped for air.  The painful memory was as clear as if it 
had just occurred, and yet it had been repressed for almost thirty 
years.  What had Nick ever done to bring down such wrath?  What kind of 
father would beat his own child so horribly?  Chakotay felt tears on his 
face, tears of compassion for the one he called friend.  Although he 
still didn't know anything about Nick's race, he had a deeper 
understanding of Nick.  
	Then he knew exactly where to hold his meetings with Nick.  He 
spent the rest of the morning preparing a holodeck program of the simple 
cottage on the river of his home world.  
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	Chapter five: The Artist
	
	Nick still could not believe he had escaped that meeting with his 
commission still in tact.  He felt fairly bursting with relief.  He 
swung by sickbay first, and gathered several files that the doctor felt 
he should read.  Paulus wasn't expected until after lunch.  He might as 
well get started on learning how to fill this new role.  He settled into 
one of the chairs and placed his feet up on the coffee table.  The files 
were complicated and boring.  It was a good thing he had a near perfect 
memory.  Maybe if he just piled all that knowledge up inside, it would 
lurk there, waiting until the right moment, then spring forth with 
pearls of wisdom when needed.  Nick grinned at the mental image and 
shrugged.  Well, what else did he have to do this morning, anyway?
	B'Elanna stopped by again, to celebrate lunch break with him.  
What a wonderful little custom, he thought curiously.  How had it 
escaped his knowledge all these years?  Perhaps it was not an earthly 
custom, but from whatever planet B'Elanna called home?  It didn't 
matter.  He would have to arrange with Neelix to get his meal early.  He 
could not safely miss a meal on a regular basis.  Not when he had to 
work in such close proximity with his natural food source. 
	Neelix bubbled in next.  He seemed very agitated.  His heart rate 
was high, even for a Talaxian, and his voice raced ahead of his brain at 
a higher pitch than normal.  He carried a coffee mug of human for Nick, 
and a bottle of the other stuff.  
	"Since you missed lunch again, I thought I'd just stop by and 
bring this over," he squeaked.  "I don't think it is a wise idea to let 
you go hungry, very long, that is, oh, dear, it isn't that I don't trust 
you, you know, its just, argh!"  Neelix finally closed his mouth and 
hazarded a glance at the vampire.
	Nick was grinning.  He accepted the coffee mug gratefully. 
B'Elanna had been so sweet, and he needed something to cut the sugar and 
fill him up.  He couldn't place whom this blood had come from.  Maybe it 
was too old. or the person was not fully recovered from the parasitic 
infection?  That was it.  The blood had the slightly off flavor of 
illness to it.  Now he understood why Janeway had him on such a limited 
diet.  The crew physically was not up to meeting his needs.  
	"What can I do for you, Neelix?"  Nick tried to calm the nervous 
little alien.
	"Well, I love your painting, Nick, really I do.  The one of your 
family?  The Maquis painting?  But, I just was wondering-- well-- would 
you look at this!  Did you do this painting, too?"
	Neelix stared at the one Nick had chosen to hang in here.  It was 
a wild swirling of colors and shapes, depicting his moods, rather than a 
realistic work.  It wasn't exactly what he would have chosen to put in 
here, but the portrait of LaCroix and Janette was totally inappropriate.  
He wanted to make people feel comfortable, not scare them into 
submission.  
	"Nick, your other painting. I think it is just a little bit too 
dramatic for the Mess Hall.  People see it, and I don't think it is good 
for their digestion.  I mean, all those sweet faces, gone!  Dead!  Could 
I maybe trade?  And hang this bright, cheery painting in the Mess Hall?"
	Nick felt suddenly very pleased.  His painting affected others?  
He was glad it made them feel something!  He had never intended it to be 
some trivial fluff of interior decorating.  "Thank you, Neelix!" he 
said.  "Frankly, I would be glad to have it back.  I wasn't ready to 
part with it."
	Neelix went back outside the door and returned with the large 
canvas.  "I'm so glad that you don't mind," he enthused, his voice 
already dropping lower.  "I was hoping that would be the case!"
	The family portrait of the vampires that had died with the Maquis 
was very large.  The portraits were tiny, overlapping one another 
against the backdrop of space.  As he placed it on the hook, it was 
Anton's face he saw first.  Sweet Anton, the little brother who wanted 
to paint, seemed to smile at him wistfully.  Nick felt a tear well up, 
and tried to blink it away.
	"Now, I expect to see you for dinner, Nick.  You need to spend 
time with the crew-- and don't skip any meals."
	"Right, Neelix.  I'll be there."
	Nick settled back to sip from the replicated plasma and resumed 
the boring tome of modern psychotherapy technique.  The author really 
irritated him.  He checked the index for any background information.  
Certainly the author's methods were meant for some alien race and not 
the complex yet fragile mortal human psyche he was so familiar with?  
But the author's name sounded human enough.  It was a relatively recent 
work, yet it referenced studies of the past three centuries.  Something 
about it really irritated him, though.  There were ways to many ways to 
deal with people in pain.  LaCroix had shown him them all, at one time 
or another..
	
	==============Flashback,  Chicago 2042 ===================== 
	
	"Nicholas!  Enough!  Get up and get dressed!"  LaCroix fairly 
shouted at him.
	Nick rolled over his bed and pulled her pillow over his ear to 
block out the noise.  "Go away.  I want to be alone," he whispered 
hoarsely.
	"I have left you alone, you  miserable, pathetic creature!  For 
six weeks now!  So she left you.  It was time for her to move on.  She 
is not truly gone, Nicholas.  You know that.  She will return one day."
	Nick did not respond. He felt weak, listless.  He wasn't even sure 
if it was day or night.  He had quit feeding a while ago, finding that 
the dull ache in his gut was preferable to the painful throb of 
emptiness left in Natalie's wake.
	He felt the covers pulled away, and a rough hand clamped onto his 
arm.  LaCroix yanked him out of the bed and set him forcefully on his 
feet.  His head felt heavy and he was overcome with dizziness.  A sudden 
wave a nausea hit him.  He crumpled to the floor, vomiting a small pool 
of thin, stale blood.  There was nothing in his stomach to lose.  He had 
not fed in more days than he could remember.  It was his own blood he 
vomited.  Then, the dry heaves shook his thin frame.  Again and again.  
His master's voice sounded very distant.  The words were no longer 
comprehensible, as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
	He felt himself being lifted.  But maybe that wasn't real.  Maybe 
that was the dizziness again, the way it made him feel, disjointed, 
divided.  The cold floor left, and he was once again on his bed.  
Something pressed against his lips.  Salty, ancient... the healing blood 
of his master.
	Nick did not want to be healed.  He turned away.  
	"Drink, damn you!" LaCroix roared.  
	Nick never even flinched.  Maybe LaCroix would beat him.  It 
didn't matter anymore.  He was dead inside.  No pain.  No nothing.  
	LaCroix pulled his pajama shirt open, tearing the fabric and 
popping the buttons.  He cursed at the sight.  Pale skin hung loosely 
over a skeleton of a man.  There was almost no muscle left. his vampire 
body had begun to consume itself when he stopped feeding.  Nick felt 
himself float free from above, watching vaguely as his master tried to 
make his other self, the corporal form in the bed, feed.  The  wasted 
flesh and ruined body were grotesquely fascinating.  He knew he could 
not kill himself in this matter.  His heart could stop, his brain 
activity would cease, and yet still he would exist, not passing on into 
the next life, but trapped here for an eternity.  And yet, as a living 
corpse, he would never hurt again.  He was dead to pain.  And maybe that 
was enough.
	LaCroix  grabbed a knife and slashed Nick's wrist, attempting to 
nourish him directly.  The knife cut clear through flesh without even a 
drop of blood, coming into contact with bone.  LaCroix stared aghast.  
How was he to get nourishment into him?  Nick's tortured stomach heaved 
again, a small trickle of blood oozed from his lips.
	LaCroix fell to his knees.  He pulled Nick into his strong arms, 
rocking him gently and he wept.  "My son, my son!  What hast thou done!"
	That startled Nick.  He could not remember ever having seen 
vampire master weep before.  Not even when he buried his own daughter, 
child of his mortal flesh,  in a fiery grave.   Nick felt a twinge of 
guilt.  He didn't mean to hurt him.  He just didn't want to hurt 
anymore.  
	His corporal self could not see or think or feel.  He had slipped 
into unconsciousness.  His spirit self watched, feeling a moment of 
empathy for the grieving father.  His spirit self could not speak, but 
he shared the psychic link with LaCroix.  He pictured a place of peace 
and tried to send it to him.  There was a place of sand.  The sun warmed 
but did not burn.  LaCroix was there, too, but then it wasn't really 
LaCroix, just a guide who looked like him.  "It will be okay," he 
comforted him.  "See the light?  .and the sand?  Let me rest in the 
sand.  Feel the peace?"  
	LaCroix continued to rock him.  One hand cradled Nick's head, 
tenderly stroking the long, unkempt golden curls.  His blood tears 
flowed freely, two streams of red on a pale white face.  The streams 
followed their downward course, pulled by forces of nature, and fell 
onto Nick.  Some dripped into his eyes and mouth.   The tears were a 
soothing balm to the pain in his dry, sunken sockets.  His spirit 
watched, following the course of the tears.  He saw the swollen tongue 
slip between pale lips to lick at the tears.  Then, his spirit was 
yanked back, forced to return to the crippled, wounded body.  No longer 
could he watch, separated from the events.  He was trapped again inside.  
He was blind, his mouth would not form words .  He was unable to 
communicate through any means. even the link with LaCroix seemed barred.  
His lungs barely functioned.  His limbs were dead, unable to move at 
all.  This was living Hell.  
	Somewhere, he could still hear his master.  Sometimes in French, 
sometimes in Latin. sometimes the words made no sense to his fuddled 
mind.  Gentle, cold hands bathed and dressed him.  Again and again, 
blood was offered to him. a few drops on his lips, a slash to his wrist.  
And when he lay in bed, he was pulled up close against a cool chest, a 
familiar scent, his hair gently stroked with loving fingers.  
	
	====================end, flashback ==================
	
	
	Nick blinked back blood tears.   Focusing on his demons would not 
help Paulus!   He sighed, and tried once again to concentrate on the 
medical advice before him.
	The door chimed, and Paulus entered tentatively.  Nick smiled at 
her warmly, grateful for the interruption from the painful memory.   He 
laid down the padd he'd started reading and stood up.  "Won't you come 
in?"
	She surveyed the room, as if making sure of its safety.  Her eyes 
settled on the large painting, the only change in the past daily cycle.  
"I love this picture," she whispered.  "Will you tell me about them?"
	Nick hesitated, moving to stand beside her.  He needed to get her 
talking!  And there were so many portraits.  It would take forever.  
But, he knew he still needed to gain her trust.  Even now he could hear 
her heart rate elevating.  "There are so many," he said, coming up with 
what he hoped was a fair compromise.  "What if I tell you about just one 
today?"
	Her face swept the canvas starscape.  She gazed intently at the 
many small portraits for a long time.  Nick watched her.  She was all 
closed in upon herself.  He suspected that this was much more than 
mourning for a child.  She was afraid to let anyone in. her husband, 
Nick, the Captain-- well, he wouldn't argue there, the Captain was an 
intimidating woman.  
	 Nick surveyed the many small portraits.   Whom should he talk 
about?  Whose story might be even remotely interesting  this shy mortal?  
Finally, his gaze settled on Anton..  He felt closer to Anton than any 
of the others.  He suspected Anton's portrait reflected that feeling, 
besides which, his was at the center of the composition.  
	"This is Anton," Nick began.  The brief respite from his painful 
memories was over.  Time to face them again.
	
	
	============= Yukon, 2043 ================
	
	
	"Drink, Nicholas!"  LaCroix commanded.
	Nick sat, unmoving.  LaCroix still dressed him every evening, put 
him to bed at daybreak, and set food before him at regular intervals, as 
he had been doing for many months.  Nick's health had returned, but not 
his will.  His master's patience wore thin these days.  Often now a 
command was accompanied by a blow, yet still Nick remained listless.  
	He stared at the mug of human plasma before him, thawed and warmed 
and tantalizing.  He took a sip, then pushed it aside.  Folding his arms 
on the table, he laid his head down and closed his eyes.
	"Nicholas!  You would try the patience of a saint!" LaCroix 
exclaimed.  
	Nick waited.  LaCroix would strike him, then force the liquid down 
his throat.  He never flinched, but merely waited, resigned to the 
abuse, and knowing that the physical pain was still better than trying 
to go on with the painful phantoms in his mind.  Tonight, however, he 
felt LaCroix's hand rest on his shoulder.
	"I am expecting company, tonight, Nicholas.  I trust you will 
behave yourself."  Then he left.  Not bothering to turn his head and 
watch, Nick simply listened to the sounds, and thought about what each 
meant.  A door opened. LaCroix was putting something on, a coat, 
perhaps.  Nick couldn't remember if LaCroix had gone out before in all 
his months here.  He must have, but then no one had come by, either.  
Not that Nick wanted to see anybody.  He just assumed that by now 
LaCroix would have tried to bring by some of his old friends-- mortal or 
vampire alike-- to "cheer" him.  
	Some time later LaCroix returned, to find Nick still with his head 
resting on the table.  He had not moved.  The ancient replaced his outer 
clothing in the closet.  "Nicholas," he called.  "This is Anton.  Anton, 
meet my obstinate child, Nicholas."
	"Hello, Nicholas, sir," a youthful voice responded.  "I'm happy to 
meet you!"  
	Although Nick never moved, the boy approached and hugged him.  
"Mr. LaCroix has invited me to stay with you!  I am very grateful.  
Looks like a nice place.  He had a lot of  wisdom and foresight to 
prepare a shelter like this!"  
	Wearily, Nick pushed himself up to a sitting position.  He stared 
at the annoying person.  Anton was young, still a boy, growing towards a 
man.  Maybe he was seventeen, or eighteen or so, as he was definitely a 
mortal.  His hair and eyes were soft brown.  His clothing was torn and 
dirty, in fact, he was dirty everywhere. 
	"LaCroix," Nick complained.  "Your guest needs a bath."
	"Yes," the other agreed.
	"So?"
	"My son.  I am not in the business of giving care to injured 
mortals, pets, wildlife, or children.  If you feel so inclined, then by 
all means, proceed."
	"But he's your guest."
	"Hmm," LaCroix answered disinterestedly.  "I brought him here for 
you."
	"I don't want him."
	"Then do with him as you please.  Bathe him, or eat him, I do not 
care."  With that, LaCroix stood up and left them.  
	Nick glared at the boy, as Anton explored the room.  He touched 
everything, but with such care and reverence, that nothing was in danger 
of being broken.  As Nick observed him, he saw as though for the first 
time this home LaCroix had brought him to.  There were no windows!  The 
walls were decorated with heavy tapestries, and the paintings Nick had 
created over the years, yet still, the lack of windows was very strange.  
Nick wondered how he could have missed that fact before.  
	Prominently displayed were many of his artifacts, ties to 
mortality or sentimentality, Nick was no longer sure which.  He saw the 
Jade cup, the wooden box that housed Courage's simple cross, a photo of 
his caddy-- before the treasured machine had finally succumbed to age 
and rust beyond repair, and even the Celtic harp. a treasure he had not 
owned before.  How had it come to be in LaCroix's possession?  Nick was 
touched, momentarily speechless, at the tangible evidence of LaCroix's 
concern for him.
	Nick pushed himself to his feet, then waited for the brief moment 
of dizziness to pass.  "Come," he said.  
	Anton hurried to his side, gazing up at him with open trust and 
adoration.  "Thank you so much, for letting me stay," he said.  "You 
won't be sorry!  I can clean, and cook, and I will take care of you 
both!"
	"I'm sorry already," Nick snapped at him crossly.  
	Anton didn't even flinch.  He just smiled broadly, as though he 
deserved whatever Nick gave him.  "Then I shall have to work that much 
harder," he vowed.
	Nick led him to the nearest bathroom.  He made sure that plenty of 
soap and shampoo were available, before turning to scowl at Anton.  The 
boy was small- maybe six or seven inches shorter than Nick, and too 
thin.  Nick wasn't sure if there was any clothing that would fit him, 
but he would have to look.  "Clean yourself.  Thoroughly," Nick said.  
"And throw your clothing in the trash."
	Anton had unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, baring a thin, bony 
back that was covered with oozing sores.  When he heard Nick's last 
comment, he whirled around, clutching the khaki green shirt to him.
	"No, sir!  Please!  I can wash them."
	Nick shrugged.  "As you wish.  I will bring you a robe, then, 
until they are clean."
	Nick returned to his room, exhausted already by even this brief 
excursion.  Slowly, he made his way towards the closet and stepped 
inside.  He had to lean against the door for many moments.  Vampire 
bodies healed themselves, but his perfectly healthy muscles were 
atrophying from disuse.  Already, a fine sheen of  blood perspiration 
covered his forehead.  
	 He saw that the bed was neatly made. LaCroix must have seen to 
it. LaCroix still slept with him, as he tried to protect him from 
himself, and attempted to keep the nightmares away.  Nick was tempted to 
lie down, if only for a few moments, but LaCroix would notice.  He 
refused to allow Nick to lie around feeling sorry for himself.  He had 
to do that sitting up.  He grabbed the robe from a hook just inside the 
closet, and slowly, painfully, made he way back to the bathroom.  
	Anton was already out of the shower with a towel wrapped around 
his hips.  Nick scowled at him critically and handed him the robe.  "Did 
you get clean?  That was pretty fast."
	"Yes, sir.  I didn't waste any water, honest."  He slipped into 
the robe and tied the belt, then hung up his towel to dry.  His hands, 
now free of the grime, were delicate.  Long, thin graceful fingers, 
protruding wrist bones, festering sores on his forearms.  LaCroix's 
guest was not in good health.  
	Another wave of dizziness overcame Nick.  He leaned against the 
doorframe and shut his eyes, willing the sensation to cease.  Anton 
slipped an arm around him.  "Here, sir.  Let me help you to a chair?"
	"I can manage," Nick said gruffly.  But he lacked the strength to 
push Anton away.  With the boy's support, he returned to the table.  The 
glass was still there.  He took another few sips. the walk through the 
house had stirred his appetite.  
	"Do you have any thing that needs washing?  I could throw them in 
with my clothes," Anton offered.
	"No."
	"Where is the washer?"
	"I don't know," Nick answered.  His head hurt.  He could not sense 
the position of the sun or moon as all good vampires could, and so he 
didn't know how much longer until LaCroix would permit him to return to 
sleep.  Sleep was all Nick wanted.  Anton's chatter kept him from his 
goal.  
	"You don't know?" Anton sounded lightly amused.  "And you have 
lived here for over a year?"
	Nick thought before answering.  Had it been that long?  He 
couldn't think.  His mind felt fuzzy.  He couldn't actually remember 
even coming here.  "Why are you here?" he asked crossly.
	"I don't know.  When Mr. LaCroix came and offered me a place to 
stay, he didn't tell me why.  I assume that I am to work for you."
	"Where are your parents, your family?"  
	Anton's face became sad.  He blinked away tears.  "Gone.  All 
gone.  I was at scout camp when it happened, or I would have died with 
them..  Did you do all these paintings?"  
	Nick watched the boy's face lighten as a curiosity instantly 
replaced his grief.  Part of him wondered about the "it" that had 
claimed the lives of the boy's family, but part of him really didn't 
care.  Where was LaCroix?  It was time for his guest to leave.
	"Yes, I did."
	"Would you teach me to paint?"
	Nick didn't answer.  He laid his head down again and ignored the 
boy.  Maybe he would just go away.  
	Anton busied himself.  He opened closets and doors until he 
located the washer and dryer, then threw in his tattered, filthy 
clothes.  Nick heard him clean the bathroom he had used, then he washed 
and dried the two glasses in the kitchen sink.  He hummed a cheery tune 
as he worked, interrupting Nick's chance of returning to the oblivion 
that only sleep offered.  
	"What is it that you want," Nick snapped.
	"Teach me to paint?" Anton pleaded.  "I will work very hard for 
you.  I'll take good care of everything!"
	"You don't have to work here.  You are LaCroix's guest and not a 
hired man."
	"Please?"
	Nick knew this fortress had a studio somewhere.  LaCroix had given 
him a guided tour months ago and he had encouraged Nick to paint again.  
So that was probably what this little visit with Anton was all about.  
LaCroix was again manipulating him.  Well, he would give Anton an art 
lesson, and then maybe he would feed on him and that would be that.
	Anton slipped his thin arms around Nick and helped him to his 
feet.  Nick stiffened at his touch.  "I can make it on my own," he said.  
He took another swallow from the glass, then slowly forced his tired 
body to comply.  He moved through the living room to the far corridor, 
which curved slightly to the left and down.  The studio was behind the 
fourth door he opened-- far enough from the living room that LaCroix 
would not be offended by the smell of turpentine, yet close enough that 
he would still be able to sense his son and control him through their 
link.  Nick knew how LaCroix thought.  He was not the least surprised to 
see that the studio had recently been arranged with two easels, two 
canvasses, and the supplies for this little lesson.  LaCroix had 
probably ordered the boy to ask for the art lessons.  He might have no 
talent, and no real interest.  Then Nick could show his miserable 
painting to LaCroix as an excuse for draining him.
	"You'll need to set up a still life," Nick said, as he started to 
place small dabs of paint on two palettes.  "Gather some items from the 
living area, of varying colors, textures, and shapes, and make an 
arrangement that is visually pleasing. Then we'll begin."
	Anton smiled brightly and hugged Nick.  "Yes, sir!  Thank you, 
sir!"
	"And it's just "Nick", Anton."
	With the palettes prepared, Nick lowered himself to the floor and 
closed his eyes while Anton fulfilled his first step in the art lesson.  
It would be entertaining to see what the boy came up with.  He pulled up 
his knees and rested his forehead on them.  
	Before long, he felt Anton gently touch his shoulder.  "It is 
ready, sir, Nick," he said.
	Nick glanced up first at Anton's face, flushed with excitement, 
and then at the stool.  A canvas board had been laid on the stool first, 
giving him a larger surface with which to work, then a dark quilt was 
draped over that.  The Celtic harp stood near the center of the 
arrangement, slightly angled to show off its graceful shape.  A helmet 
from a suit of armor rested on top of a thick, black leather book.  It 
was Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," a popular book in the fourteenth 
century, but this antique edition also held a lock of dark hair from a 
certain seductress. part of the reason he became a vampire so many years 
ago.  The ancient Jade cup from the Mayan dig sat off to one side, 
lonely and almost forgotten.  
	It was an interesting assortment.  All of the objects had at one 
time held great meaning for him. Anton could not have known how deeply 
personal the objects were.  Nick had told him to gather some things, and 
these items had all been readily available.  Yet, if Nick worked on this 
painting, he knew it would affect him.  "Did LaCroix help you," he 
grunted.
	"Only with the quilt.  I asked him if it would be alright to take 
it," Anton replied.  
	Nick nodded.  "Fine.  Let's get started, then."    
	
	
	================ end, flashback =============== 
	
	
	"Anton learned quickly," Nick said.  "He became a brilliant 
artist.  His works were profoundly inspirational..  He painted night 
pictures mostly, of children dancing and laughing beneath the brilliant 
orange light of the harvest moon, or lovers sharing a midnight stroll 
under the golden devil moon, joyous family picnics spread out in the 
silvery tones of a full moon, and sleepy towns or villages barely 
visible in mystic mists of a waning moon. 
	"He lived with me for many years.  I taught him how to paint, and 
he taught me how to live again.  Of all the faces on that canvas, I miss 
his the most."
	Nick quickly wiped the blood tears from his eyes.  Anton was gone.  
He would grieve for him, but he would not return to the despair from 
which Anton had rescued him.  The ability to go on was Anton's gift to 
him.  Now, he needed to know how to pass that gift on to Paulus.  
	She remained with her back to Nick, her eyes intent on the 
painting.  "Will you please teach me to paint, too?" she whispered.
	Nick was surprised.  "I, uh, I would be glad to," he stammered.
	She turned to face him and smiled a strange, sad little smile.  
"Teaching Anton helped you.  Maybe it can help me, too."
	Nick returned her smile.  He stood and hugged her in brotherly 
fashion.  "Wear older clothes tomorrow and we'll begin.  I'll gather all 
the materials."
	She nodded briefly, then slipped outside and was gone.  Nick 
stared after her.  He shook his head.  "You're in too deep, Knight," he 
chided himself.  "She needs someone desperately, and it isn't you."
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	
	Chapter six:  First  Contact
	
	Chakotay's gaze swept Nick's office and he nodded appreciatively.  
"Good.  Come with me."
	     He never was one to mince with words.  Nick wondered where 
they were going, as he followed him through the corridors.  He suspected 
it had something to do with the Captain and her irritation this morning.  
That Chakotay didn't say anything to alleviate his fears convinced him 
that it was even more serious than he thought.  He didn't recognize 
where they were going, though.  Not to the ready room, not to the brig. 
Nick never came to this corridor before.  All that was down this way was 
the holodeck.
	"What's up," he asked nervously.
	Chakotay tapped a switch on the door panel outside of the 
holodeck.  "Computer, run program: Chakotay, 1401A."
	Lightning quick, Nick's hand grabbed onto Chakotay's wrist, 
barring him from stepping into the doors.  "Stop!"  
	Chakotay looked at Nick intently.  He saw genuine fear reflected 
in his face.  Nick's blue eyes, now flecked with gold, were open wide.  
If it was even possible, more color drained from his pale face. 
	"Nothing's up," Chakotay answered him, curious to the cause of his 
discomfort.  He'd seen this vampire in battles. not much unnerved him. 
"We just need to spend some time together, and talk over a few things.  
I thought we'd do it someplace comfortable."
	"But I-- I can't go in there," Nick stammered, glancing at the 
closed doors with apprehension.
	"Why?"
	Nick shrugged.  He didn't really know.  He'd never gone in there.  
Holographic sunlight would be real enough to burn him, although it might 
take longer than real sunlight. When holographic technology first came 
about, a lot of vampires were thrilled.  It allowed them to recreate 
times in history when being a vampire was simpler and food more 
plentiful.  But at an earlier time Nick had tried a virtual interactive 
game and found that it had awakened the killer in him.  He craved the 
game like a drug, feeding his unholy lust for blood.  Natalie, still a 
mortal then and dedicated to helping him find a way back to his own 
mortality, had tossed the game into the fire, forcing him to withdraw 
from its addictive clutches.  Fear of repeating the same mistake had 
kept him out of holodecks.
	"You mean, that you've been on this ship for four years, you 
almost never go planetside, and you've never been in the holodeck?"
	Nick swallowed and nodded.
	"No wonder you seem wound tighter than a drum.  Everyone needs a 
break, Nick.  Now, we'll go inside together.  If anything in the program 
bothers you, all you have to say is "computer, end program" and it will 
disappear.  It is nothing but empty holograms and replicated matter.  
Nothing is in there to harm you.  Not even sunlight.  This program is 
set to run only by moonlight."
	Nick hesitated again.  How could he explain his concerns?  He 
nodded almost imperceptibly and followed Chakotay through the doors.
	Inside he smelled pleasant scents of smoke from campfires, 
perfumes and pollens from dozens of flora, the press of humanity in a 
nearby village.  He heard the low, droning tones of an ancient one 
relating a story, the overlapping thrum of countless heartbeats, the 
distant cry of a wolf, the ripple and lap of the river.  He felt the 
evening's breeze lift the hair from his sweat-covered brown.  Then 
slowly, Nicholas Knight, 1179-year-old vampire, had the courage to open 
his eyes.
	He recognized the place.  Quietly, he followed Chakotay to the 
river's edge.  Chakotay lifted a paddle and dangled it tauntingly in 
front of him.  "Do you still remember how to use one of these?"
	Nick simply nodded, not yet ready to carry on a conversation.  He 
pulled off his jacket and turtleneck, kicked off the Starfleet issue 
boots, and stepped into the back of the canoe.  Chakotay followed suit.  
They set off upstream, which if Chakotay had thoroughly created the 
program, would bring them to one of his former homes, the one where he 
had spent a summer with Chakotay.  
	"You don't seem as strong as you did thirty years ago," Chakotay 
said lightly.
	"You're just heavier," Nick croaked.
	In silence they traveled upstream.  Moonlight filtered through the 
woods and sparkled on the crests of each ripple of the river, painting 
each with a patch of silver while the swift stream itself was inky 
black.  The small replica of a hand-hewn canoe lurched forward with each 
stroke of the paddles, glided silently, slowed, and just before it could 
drift backwards again in the current, the paddles again slipped into the 
river pushing against the water, a rhythmic dance more ancient than Nick 
himself, more ancient than the first fathers of the People, Chakotay's 
tribe.  
	Chakotay sat in front again, as he had as a boy.  Now the memories 
were clear, with the veil of Nick's hypnotism lifted.  He recalled that 
other night.  He had despised the ways of his people.  Their unnatural 
clinging to the past, forsaking all that was modern.  Time would not 
stand still.  Neither should people.  But part of him was sick, tortured 
with grief, that all that had survived of his people for a millennia was 
now gone, irretrievable, ashes in space, because of the Cardassian 
attack on his planet.  He was not just an orphan, alone with no family 
or relatives.  He was an orphaned race, the sole survivor of his people.  
Chakotay swallowed past the thickness in his throat and buried his grief 
deeply again.
	Nick tried to remember that night, thirty years ago or so, but he 
still could not adjust to the concept of the holodeck.  The paddle felt 
real in his hands.  It was smooth wood.  The air smelled crisp and 
fresh.  This was not a square blue and silver cubicle on a starship, 
this really was the planet in the alpha quadrant, an insignificant rock 
that had the terrible misfortune of being on the wrong side of an 
imaginary line designating the territories of opposing political 
parties.  The moon looked real.  The rising sun would be real, too.  
Recalling the urgency of that long ago night to reach his home before 
sunrise, Nick paddled harder.  
	He guided the canoe into the cove by another holographic replica 
depicting his house.  He knew that this was all supposed to be just 
make-believe, a pretend mock-up of his home, and yet he felt a sense of 
belonging steel over him mixed with pride.  He had lived here 
intermittently for many years, living off the land and not interfering 
with the lives of mortals.  He had hunted wild boar, slaking his burning 
blood thirst on their warm fluid, satisfied with the rage of the dying 
beast.  He had avoided getting in the way of history, of mortals and 
their petty disputes. he had avoided all contact with LaCroix.  
	Nick walked a slow circle around his land, then turned to face 
Chakotay.  "How much do you remember?"
	"More than I did yesterday," he answered cryptically.  
	Nick stared at him, trying to decipher the emotions behind the 
stoic reserve.
	"You saved my life," Chakotay stated.  "That day, thirty years 
ago, and again on the Liberty."  He pulled a knife from his boot, the 
same knife he had buried in Nick's chest two weeks ago.  He held the 
knife over his forearm as he prepared to slice into his skin.   
	Nick stayed his hands.  "I cannot join with you in the ceremony."
	Chakotay questioned him with a look.
	"I joined once, years ago, with a healer, Marion Blackwing.  It 
wasn't even real--we performed the blood ceremony in the spirit world.  
She healed me, for a short time, of the guilt I had carried for 
centuries.  She made me whole again.  She set me free.  
	"But she took my evil into herself, and it made her a killer.  She 
killed twice, before she was mortally wounded.  As she lay dying in my 
arms, I took back from her that which she had freed me of.  I could not 
send her on the spirit walk, to live for eternity with that which I 
could not endure another moment.
	"Part of me died with her.  The part that ever truly believed I 
could be cured."
	"Cured?  Of what?"
	"Cured of being a vampire," Nick explained.  "I will not join you 
to the darkness that is within me."
	"Even if I ask it?"
	Nick sneered at him.  "You don't even understand it!  You have no 
idea what you ask."
	"I know that I don't want to lose my memories again.  When we 
reach the alpha quadrant, I would rather join you, as blood brothers, 
than have you scramble my brains."
	Nick laughed humorlessly.  "You are a resistor--I can't hypnotize 
you any more, Chakotay!  If I could, you would have killed me two weeks 
ago."
	Chakotay sliced through his forearm swiftly.  Extending his arm 
towards Nick, he spoke with the same, deep power that made him such an 
effective commander.  "Blood's thicker than water, Nick.  Everything I 
know is gone!  My father, my mother, my friends, neighbors, relatives, 
everyone is gone, destroyed by the Cardassians!  I sought release 
through vengeance!  I joined the Maquis, expecting  to kill a few on the 
way to my grave!  I never wanted this life, Nick!  I should be dead, 
with all of them!"
	Nick stared at the wrist, at the blood welling forth and spilling 
wastefully onto the ground.  His fear of the holodeck vanished.  The 
sound of Chakotay's voice was nothing in his ears.  Only the sound of 
the blood as it pulsed through Chakotay's veins..  It filled his 
thoughts and his desires.  There was nothing except him and the blood.
	His hunger was intense.  The blood scent stirred the beast.	His 
fangs descended, his eyes flipped from feral gold to blood red.  Unable 
to restrain himself, he lunged for the wound.  
	Chakotay stood firm.  He watched, strangely--almost sensually-- 
fascinated, at feeling Nick suck the lifeblood from him.  It was a 
dangerous game they were playing and he didn't know the rules.  He 
wanted something from Nick.  But he sensed this was not the way.  He 
felt dizzy.  He tried to shake Nick off, but the other man was still 
much stronger than he looked.  He called to him, but if Nick could still 
hear, he was beyond understanding.  Nick, the quiet crusader, was gone, 
and in his place was the dangerous beast he had alluded to.  
	"Computer,  run 1401B!" Chakotay gasped, even as he felt his knees 
grow weak.
	From out of the shadows ran a fierce wild boar, the holographic 
representation of the dominant predator on his home world.  It charged 
for Nick and sank its powerful incisors into Nick's leg, just as 
Chakotay had programmed it to.  The sudden attack startled the vampire, 
and he released Chakotay to face this newest threat.  With a bone-
chilling roar Nick grabbed at the boar's jaws and tried to pry them 
apart.  Chakotay picked up his knife and hurled himself at the boar, 
sinking the blade into its ribs on the right side, stopping it's heart 
even as Nick cracked its jaws and snapped its neck.  The beast lay 
still.  
	For a heady moment Nick and Chakotay glared at one another.  
Chakotay saw a brief hint of shame on Nick's face, along with a smug 
satisfaction.  Nick saw acceptance and challenge in Chakotay, but no 
fear.  
	"You should not trust a vampire," Nick said menacingly.
	"I will never again underestimate the vampire," Chakotay conceded.  
"But when we reach the alpha quadrant, you will make me like you."
	"That should give me about sixty years to change your mind."
	Both men laughed.  Chakotay sliced open the beast and retrieved 
the heart.  He had expertly severed the main arteries without damaging 
the muscle.  The warriors among his people prized the heart, eyes and 
brains of the kill.  Then the beast was roasted and shared with the rest 
of the tribe.  He held the heart out to Nick.
	Nick knew it was a sign of respect.  After nearly killing his 
commanding officer, he decided he'd better not offend him, too.  He 
accepted the still warm heart dripping with blood that almost even 
smelled real.  His fangs pierced the warm, tender flesh, and he sucked 
every drop from it.  
	The blood was replicated plasma, not empty holograms, yet somehow 
it didn't taste as flat.  This blood still held something of the beast, 
both rage and fear as it fought for its own survival.  He felt the thick 
fluid drip down his chin and onto his bare chest.  Then he held the 
empty heart to Chakotay, who bit into it, tearing the raw flesh with his 
teeth and consuming it.  Together, they had killed the beast, and 
together they would share the kill.  Tonight there was neither commander 
nor subordinate, no Starfleet and no Federation. there was only two 
warriors, a bright star-filled sky, and a feast.
	Chakotay dug a pit, built a small fire and buried the rest of the 
boar.  It would smoke-cook for two days, if this were reality.  Instead, 
it was a task performed as part of tradition, as another step in an 
intricate dance, the dance of The People.  Then they swam in the river 
to wash away the blood. The cold water cleansed the wounds on Chakotay's 
arm, as well, the knife's gash and the small puncture marks of fangs.  
	"I thought you didn't like hunting," Nick said.
	Chakotay laughed.  "That is only what I told my father.  To 
irritate him, I'm sure.  But what is a soldier, if not a hunter?  So I 
hunt down enemies instead of animals.. And somewhere, some Cardassian 
child mourns his father because of me."
	Nick was growing sleepy.  He'd put in a long day, worked out with 
B'Elanna, hunted with Chakotay, swam, feasted, and now he was filled and 
relaxed.  He stretched out on the ground at a safe distance from the 
fire pit.  When Chakotay joined him, he asked sleepily, "So, why here?  
This is more than a chance to recall old times, isn't it?"
	Chakotay laughed.  "Yes, it is.  I won't hedge around any longer.  
It seems that you are having some difficulty integrating into this ship.  
It has become my task to make it easier for everyone."
	"Lucky you."  Nick yawned.  
	"Janeway is really uptight.  I don't know why, I have never seen 
her this upset about any creature we have ever encountered before-- not 
the Hrojen, nor the Borg, nor even the Vidiian pirates.  It would have 
been easier, I think, if you had never consumed her blood."
	"Sorry about that," Nick said, his speech starting to slur 
slightly.  "I didn't even know she was a captain back then.  It was a 
matter of survival.."
	"What do you mean, "back then"?  When did you take the Captain's?"
	Nick didn't answer at first.  Chakotay repeated the question.  
Nick yawned widely and folded his hands across his chest.  His eyelids 
closed.  "It was back on the array.  When the caretaker first abducted 
us.  It put you, Tuvok, everyone from our ship into some kind of stasis, 
but it left me alone.  I was starving."  he drifted out of 
consciousness.  
	Chakotay prodded him.  Nick was never so easy to talk to as he was 
now in this state of near sleep, and he didn't want to lose the moment.  
"Starving.?"
	"Uh-huh.  I had to feed, so I could look for a way to rescue you.  
Then I was in a barn, it was strange.  Dreamlike, barely real. and I 
smelled a woman, and I drank.  But she elbowed me, and flipped me on my 
back.  Never had my prey do that before!  I masked her memory, then I 
vanished.  The caretaker dumped me back onto the Liberty.  You and the 
others appeared there shortly."
	"So you haven't put the bite on Captain Janeway since you