~#~#~#~

Photonic Dreams : A sequel to Looking Glass Milk

(this is set shortly after Pathfinder though the events from then on bear no relation to canon)

~#~#~#~

Part Three:

Owen Paris had suffered many times before in his life. As a Starfleet Captain he'd often found himself so deep inside the jaws of death that his body had frequently been badly mauled before he'd managed to claw his way back to life. He'd been a prisoner of the Cardassians once and even now, twenty-odd years later, there were still nights he'd wake in sweat-drenched screaming terror as his memories of the tortures he'd both endured and witnessed left him as weak and trembling as a child. 

He'd suffered emotionally too, although he was honest enough now to see that a great portion of his pain had been self-inflicted by his own terrible pride.  His inability to display his open wounds, to reveal that he had the same fears and weaknesses as any man, had gradually eroded the love of his family away until they had become mere strangers who lived beneath his roof.  His wife, the beautiful woman who had once gazed at him with soft adoration, had become a brittle ice-queen. Years of enduring his brusque neglect had clothed her in an armor that now repelled his overtures of regret. The cold facade she had hidden behind to protect herself from his indifference was now a prison she couldn't escape from. Owen suspected that she wanted to respond to him. Now and then, he'd see something soft and fragile in her sky-blue eyes when he made a special effort to be thoughtful or bought her a carefully-chosen present, but then her momentary vulnerability would be quickly shuttered and her eyes would glaze back to self-protective ice.

Sometimes he imagined that if he touched her in those vulnerable moments she would shatter, that her porcelain beauty would splinter and she would disintegrate before his eyes until nothing remained except a scattering of frozen tears.

He wasn't sure when he'd begun looking in those blue tortured eyes and seeing Tom staring back at him.  Perhaps the resemblance had always been there, but he'd been too blind to see it. It wasn't just the fact that his son physically had Jacqueline's eyes, because Tom had always been a carbon-copy of his mother. Except for the height that Owens's genes had given him, in all other respects Tom had been his mother's son.  When he was a toddler, a blond laughing cherub with eyes like a mid-day sky, Owen had adored his only son. He'd called him 'sunshine' because he'd been the light of Owens's life. 

When had that changed? When had his love for Tom turned to indifference?

For years Owen had told himself that Tom had failed him, that it was Tom's own behavior that had caused the rift between them. For years, Owen had lied to himself.

The bitter unpalatable truth was that he'd turned his back on his son the same day that he'd turned his back on his wife and that everything that had happened to Tom thereafter had consequently been his own fault.

He hadn't consciously chosen to reject either of them from his heart.  He remembered clearly that on the journey home to Earth from the Cardassian POW camp, his every waking thought had been consumed by his intense hunger to be home, to bury himself in Jacqueline's arms and then to hug his son to his breast and never let him go. He'd stumbled through his front door, his knees weak, his heart pounding, and Jacqueline had run towards him with open arms, tears streaming down her face, only for her to slide to a trembling halt as her eyes widened with horrified confusion at the skeletal tortured stranger who had returned in her husband's place. And something inside him had broken at the expression in her eyes.

Pity.

That's what he saw, and he couldn't bear it.  No matter that he also saw love and relief and acceptance in her face, that he had no doubt of her joy at his return. He couldn't bear to see pity in her eyes where previously he'd never seen anything but pride and adoration.

So he'd shouldered past her, brushing her out of his way, locking himself in his study and ignoring her piteous confused sobs as she banged on the door and pleaded to be allowed inside.

His heart became a strange, barren wilderness that daily became more frigid and unwelcoming. He refused Jacqueline's pleas that he saw a counselor, he ignored her desperate attempts to break through the thickening walls of his indifference. He threw himself into his job, covering his uncertainty with an aura of confidence and hiding his fear behind a mantle of aggressive strength.  Every night he woke screaming from nightmares and the next morning his only defense against the fact his wife had heard and witnessed his shame was to be cutting and cruel, to belittle her, to reject her compassion with vicious barbs and cold contempt.

And Tom....

Well, of course, poor Tom had been his mother's son.  Impossible for him to show his love for the boy who looked so much like his mother without risking his careful defenses against Jacqueline crumbling.  

He cut Tom out of his heart. It was a savage surgery, performed without anesthetic, the pain of the operation screamed not from his throat but from that of a little boy whose beloved father had become a monster who would no longer even tolerate his presence in the same room.  Owen had hidden himself in the shadows of his own heart, embracing the safety of the darkness, cowering from any attempts to drag his wounded spirit back out into daylight.  He wallowed in his pain. It became his strength and he told himself that his meteoric rise through the ranks of Starfleet was more than worth the price he paid.

He lurked in the shadowy recesses of Starfleet Command, moving behind the scenes, quietly and relentlessly pursuing his career, the name "Paris" becoming a word that instilled respect and fear in the ranks. He became an Admiral, he became one of the most powerful and influential men in the whole of the Federation, and he never even cared that he instilled the same fear at home as he did at Starfleet Command.

Until the day that Tom's ship disappeared in the Badlands, and he realized that the light he'd rejected for so many years was now lost.  He'd lost his 'sunshine', and the loss had shattered him.

Seven years.

For seven goddamned years he'd thrown his every waking moment into the effort to bring Tom home.  He'd fought every department head of every branch of Starfleet. He'd called in favors, he'd blackmailed, he'd bribed, he'd terrorized. He'd finally turned around and used every talent born through the years of his neglect of his family in an attempt to bring it back together. 

Seven years, and finally Jacqueline no longer flinched when he entered a room and now, though her overall demeanor was still cautious and cold, sometimes he saw a pale shadow of affection flicker in her eyes before she turned away from him. 

Seven years, and he'd found Voyager.

Only he was six months too late.

Tom was dead. His sunshine had been extinguished in a tragic accident just six months before he'd finally found the means to bring his son home.

And, sometimes, as he stared at the emptiness of his life, as he looked around himself at the dark prison of his own making, Owen struggled to find a reason to continue living himself. For seven years he'd lived for the moment when he could beg his son's forgiveness, for the moment that sunshine smile would burst across Tom's face and those blue eyes would sparkle again with the love that Owen had so carelessly thrown away.

Instead, all he could do to atone for his neglect of Tom in life was to protect him in death.

Tears dripped down his cheek onto his desk as he reached blindly for the photo of Tom that had lived there for seven years as a constant reminder of his current duty and his past shame. He pressed the photo to his chest, hearing his heart thudding against its frame, and  he made a  sacred, silent vow that his son would be given the peace in death that he'd never been given in life.

Finally, Owen would act like the father Tom deserved.

~#~#~#~

Thirty thousand light years away in the Delta Quadrant, another man was also sitting at a desk consumed by the need to protect Tom Paris but in *his* mind Tom was very much alive and he fully intended him to stay that way.

"It's not negotiable, Captain," he announced firmly.

"I fully understand your desire to protect Tom and I'll make it perfectly clear to Starfleet that I fully support your assertion that Tom is alive. When I send the next transmission and they realize that Voyager can't get home without your co-operation, they'd rescind the order to terminate Tom's program. So there's no need to use threats."

"I said it's not negotiable. Unless they send a legally-binding official acknowledgment of Tom's live status, *neither* of us will pilot the ship through the worm-hole. Do you honestly expect either one of us to willingly fly into the Alpha Quadrant when there is a death-sentence hanging over Tom's head?"

"What about the rest of the crew, Chakotay? What about your duty to the Maquis? Are you willing to face them and say we have a way home but you refuse to take it?" she challenged.

"Yes," Chakotay snapped, his eyes like flint.  "When I put on this uniform I accepted a responsibility to *all* the crew, not just the Maquis, and I wouldn't hesitate to put my life *or* Tom's on the line if their safety depended on it.  But that's not the situation we're in here. Either Tom or I would gladly die to *save* Voyager, but we're not dying for a damned shortcut home."

"Very well," she snapped. "I'll add your message to the transmission."  

Then she leant forward, snapped off the recording device and turned to Chakotay with a sad smile.

"You do realize that documents can be faked, don't you?" she asked.

"Of course," Chakotay acknowledged with a shrug.

"For the sake of the rest of the crew, Starfleet *will* send you that 'legally-binding' agreement but it won't be worth the space it takes up in the data stream."

"I know."

Kathryn frowned at him in confusion. "So why ask for it?"

"A red herring," Chakotay replied, then gave her a wide smile that chilled her to the bone.

"Do you want to let me in on your real plan?" she asked cautiously.

"It's probably better if I don't."

Kathryn nodded. She didn't know this man, she realized. This wasn't the First Officer who had become her right-hand and her anchor, this was the Maquis wolf she had been sent into the badlands to capture. Except for the uniform he wore, there was nothing left of Commander Chakotay. What sat now in her ready room was a ruthless stranger who would stop at nothing to protect the man he loved.

She was glad. 

Tom would need a wolf as his side as the Starfleet hounds began to snap at his heels.

"Anything I can do, any help you need, just ask," she offered. "Other than that, you're right, it's probably better if I don't know what you are planning."

"Thank you, Kathryn," he said, and that use of her name told her two things. That Chakotay still considered her a friend and that the chain of command was now broken. "There is one thing you could do for me," he mentioned, almost casually.

"As I said, anything," she replied. She didn't bother to say 'as long as it doesn't harm Voyager' because the words didn't need to be spoken.

"I would appreciate it if you would ask Tuvok to speak with me in private," he said, and again a silent communication passed between them and she nodded her acknowledgement that he would be asking Tuvok's help for something.

"Tuvok's conscience is his own," she stated, "but I will make my own feelings in this matter clear."

~#~#~#~

"Well?" Vice Admiral Necheyav demanded.

Owen threw down the data padd in disgust. "This is intolerable."

"It's three more months, Owen. That's all."

"That's all? He's my son, dammit."

"I'm so sorry, Owen. It must have been a terrible blow to find Voyager and discover that Tom's dead, but there are almost 150 crewmembers on that ship and they *all* have families that want their loved ones home. However you feel about the existence of the hologram, surely the fact that it can bring those people home gives you some measure of comfort? It will be Tom's skills and Tom's talents that fly Voyager through the worm hole. Don't you think that's a legacy he'd want? I don't disagree with you that the idea of the hologram itself is distasteful, but I honestly believe that Tom *would* have been pleased that even after his death he could help his friends home."

Owen shuddered and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Would he?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "How would I know, Anya? I never talked to him. Did you know that? Oh, I spoke to him. I gave him orders, I criticized him, I berated him, but we never talked. Not once. He never opened his mouth to me to say anything except 'yes, sir', 'no, sir' or 'I'm sorry'. I never even knew who he was until Janeway sent me that letter, the one he wrote me just in case there was ever the chance to send it.

"How could she do that to me? How could she send me that letter and let me read it before telling me my son was dead?"

"Perhaps because she genuinely believes what she's saying about Tom," Necheyav suggested quietly. "Although I share your horror at what they've done, I really *do* think they believed they were doing the right thing. They've been alone for seven years in hostile space on a tiny ship, practically living in each others pockets. They've become like a family, totally dependent on each other for support. That closeness has given them the strength to get themselves 45,000 light years towards home but it's taken its toll on them and perhaps they simply couldn't face the reality of Tom's death. Perhaps it was just one shock too many for them to handle and they *needed* him as a pilot so they found a way to pretend his death didn't happen." 

"Then they're mad," Owen snapped.

"Perhaps, in a way, they are," she agreed. "All I'm saying is that I'm positive none of them *meant* to desecrate Tom."

"It's not the fact the hologram is flying the ship that offends me," Owen snarled.

"Of course not," she agreed. "So we make it a condition of our agreement that Commander Chakotay and the hologram are separated."

"Do you really think they will keep their end of the bargain any more than we intend to keep ours?" Owen argued.

"No," she said. "But it *will* give us the excuse we need to call the agreement void."

~#~#~#~

"It's been two months, Chak," Tom snapped. "Two fucking months and they still won't agree that a hologram has rights, no matter how sentient he is. What the hell are we going to do?"

"Stop wriggling," Chakotay purred, blowing on the back of Tom's neck.

"Then stop doing that," Tom complained, squirming on his husbands lap as the warm breath ignited his cock. "And answer the damned question."

"Doing what?" Chakotay teased, swiping his tongue against the soft skin before latching his teeth into Tom's neck and biting down with surprising savagery.

"CHAK," Tom screamed, his cock gushing a fountain of come over his already sticky chest.

Chakotay chuckled wickedly and tightened his arms around Tom's waist to prevent him escaping from the relentless assault.

"Oh shit," Tom gasped, collapsing back against Chakotay's chest and quivering in combined excitement and dread as he wondered how long Chakotay intended to continue his game of 'How many times can you make your holographic husband come?'

"I'm sending him to Earth in the next data stream," Chakotay commented, then dropped his right hand to twist Tom's balls.

"What? Oh, fuck...that's good...what do you m...oh shit, no fair. Don't do that....You're sending the Doc to Ear...oh, gods Chak. That's fucking wonderful," Tom groaned, as Chakotay moved his fingers upwards to slide slowly up and down Tom's cock.

"He didn't seem to think so at first," Chakotay commented.

"Huh?" Tom asked dreamily.

"The Doctor. He didn't like the idea at first but it's growing on him."

"Uh huh?"

"Are you listening to me?" Chakotay demanded, tightening his fingers and speeding their glide over Tom's hard flesh.

"Huh?"

Chakotay smiled sadly and continued to tease Tom to yet another orgasm.  He was a little ashamed of himself for using Tom's libido as a weapon. It was too easy to distract him with sex, no matter how important the questions Tom wanted to ask.  Fortunately Tom was naturally too sunny and optimistic to brood often. Usually he accepted Chakotay's comment that "Everything's under control" with nothing more than a shrug and a smile, though sometimes Chakotay wondered whether that was just because Tom was too scared to learn an unpalatable truth.  But sometimes Tom asked, no, *demanded* answers and then Chakotay would play dirty. A fuck-drunk Tom was a happy Tom, he'd realized, and in that blissful state Tom rarely even remembered his questions let alone Chakotay's failure to answer them.

So Chakotay just fed him little snippets of information, a comment here, a hint there, so Tom had a vague idea of the overall plan but nothing to gnaw and worry at.

He was running out of time. No matter how many pieces he'd moved into place the gameboard was still stacked in Starfleet's favor at the moment. He had no intention of showing Tom his complete hand until he could *prove* they were going to win.

Besides, he wasn't proud of some of the things he was doing. He'd sent messages on the datastream to people he wouldn't even have dealt with when he was in the Maquis. He'd made deals and threats, he'd used blackmail and bribes, and considering he was 30,000 light years still from the people he was intimidating in the Alpha Quadrant it wouldn't take Tom much guesswork to realize that he was playing an extremely dirty hand.

No matter that Chakotay was doing it to save his husband, he was ashamed of himself.  Too ashamed to tell Tom in case the adoration in his husband's eyes turned to well-deserved loathing.  How could he possibly admit to Tom that he was using a dossier he'd compiled on the Crazy Horse about Cardassian collaborators to terrorize people into helping him? That with every stream of data that left Voyager, another dozen or so people in the Alpha Quadrant received coded messages that warned them their dirty secrets would be exposed if they didn't co-operate?

The laboratory was arranged. The transport from Auckland was arranged. His and Tom's escape from Voyager was arranged. All those pieces were in place now but none of it was going to guarantee Tom's safety unless the Doctor and Tuvok came through for them.

The Doctor was easy. He had too much to lose *not* to agree. The price of his help was his own freedom and that was worth the risk Chakotay was asking him to take.

But Tuvok...there was the problem. Without Tuvok's help nothing he'd done so far was worth shit. Chakotay didn't even *dare* to consider  beyond the fact of gaining Tuvok's co-operation, because that was the point at which he'd finally have to tell Tom his desperate plan and just imagining the look on Tom's face at that moment made Chakotay sick to his stomach.

~#~#~#~

"FIFTEEN?" Owen roared, his face contorting with fury as he glared at the Bolian. "How can he have arranged FIFTEEN?"

Lieutenant Commander Erko's blue skin blanched to pale gray but he forced himself to continue. "That's assuming we have them all. There's no telling *how* many ships he's contacted."

"At this rate there will be so many ships in front of the wormhole that Voyager won't be able to exit it," Owen snarled. 

"We've arranged a cordon around the wormhole entrance," Erko pointed out defensively, "but it's going to be almost impossible to maintain it. There are going to be so many news crews and civilian sightseers even without the ships Chakotay has arranged for that it won't be possible to keep them all away, and with the vid-casters filming we won't *dare* fire on any of the ships."

"So you believe Chakotay intends to beam himself and the hologram onto one of the ships and we already have fifteen that we *know* we need to search and an indefinite number of other possible vessels that he might beam onto instead, and that's if this isn't a deliberate double-blind and he has a completely different method of escape planned?"

"That's about the size of it, Sir," Erko admitted sheepishly.

"And you call yourselves *intelligence*?" Owen growled. "I want facts, Erko, not speculation. I want him stopped, do you hear me? If Chakotay gets off that ship and you *don't* catch him, I'll have you and your whole team busted down to crewmembers and posted to the Romulan border. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, Sir," Erko replied, and gulped audibly before making his escape.

~#~#~#~

"The datastream will collapse if you add any more bells and whistles," Tom commented, as he peered over Seven's shoulder.

Behind him, B'Elanna snorted with amusement but stepped forward to check for herself. She scanned the data and nodded decisively. "Although Tom knows less about data streams than a Targ, he's right," she announced. "We'll just have to hope we've created enough white noise to conceal the Doctor's program."

"That's all very well for you to say," the Doctor sniffed. "You're not the one who's likely to end up displayed in a software museum if you're caught. And that's if I'm lucky enough not to be erased completely."

"We're keeping a back-up," Chakotay argued. "The Captain has been forced to agree to activate the replacement EMH. Whatever happens to you from this moment on, when your backup is restored you'll be back to how you are today."

"Except my back-up will get restored in the middle of a Starfleet Laboratory no doubt," the Doctor huffed.

"If you succeed, we'll make sure the back-up is destroyed," Tom offered quietly.

"I appreciate that," the Doctor admitted. "I know that *I'll* be safe but I'd hate to think that another *me* was going to suffer that fate in my place." 

Tom dropped his eyes to the floor and shuffled nervously from foot to foot.

"I...I don't want you to get caught, Doc.  If...well, if you can't get hold of the DNA without risking yourself, I want you to forget it. I won't be responsible for your death."

The Doctor smiled and stepped forward to touch Tom's shoulder comfortingly.

"Like the Commander said, I'm backed up, Tom. But I will be careful, I promise, because if I'm caught then I'll be responsible for *your* death."

"I still don't understand why you think this is going to work," B'Elanna snapped at Chakotay. "How do you know you can trust this Barclay guy? He's a complete flake."

"Considering what he's offering to do, at least he's a brave 'flake'," Chakotay countered. "He's managed to build a mobile emitter from the specifications we sent him, so we know he's as technically knowledgeable as he claims, and he's the only person in position to retrieve the Doctor's program from the datastream before Starfleet even realize it's there.  Between the Doctor's ability to change appearance at will and his ingenuity, he should have no problem getting into Auckland."

"Are you *sure* that's the only place there's a sample of your DNA?" Harry asked Tom.

"The only place on Earth," Tom confirmed. "At least the only place where my samples are likely to be clearly identified."

"I've included a coded message to Coren. As soon as you are outside of the penal colony, he'll transport you onto his ship and take you and the DNA to Talaria."

"If he responds to the message," Tom muttered under his breath.

"I would be more comfortable performing the procedure in a human laboratory," the Doctor grumbled, not for the first time. "Using Talarian medical equipment increases the risk."

"There's more than one kind of risk, Doctor," Chakotay replied. "Ten years ago, Talaria was still at war with the Federation and the alliance is still rocky. Even if some suspicion of what we're doing should leak out, Starfleet will be extremely hesitant about approaching the Talarians for permission to search the laboratory, let alone apply for *your* extradition. You'll be safe there and so will Tom's new body."

"So all we need to do then is get me into it," Tom said brightly, "Um...how do we do that again? No one's explained that to me yet."  

"As easily as I moved you into the hologram," the Doctor assured him. "If I'd had access to full cloning facilities on this ship I would have put you in a new body instead of a hologram at the time of your accident."

"Cool," Tom agreed. "I'll kinda miss being virtually indestructible but this idea sure beats the hell out of being terminated." He gave the Doctor a high-wattage smile. "Thanks for this, Doc, and remember. Get yourself safely to Talaria. If the worst happens, there's enough of my DNA on this ship to clone me a body when we get home. I know," he said quickly when Chakotay gave him a thunderous look. "Time's gonna be an issue since we'll be running for our lives from Starfleet until I *am* in a real body, but I still don't want the Doc to be caught."

He hugged the Doctor tightly, then stepped back. "I've gotta go. I'm on the helm in ten... hell, five. I gotta run." Giving everyone a last smile, he turned and raced out of the room towards the bridge.

B'Elanna waited until he'd gone before exploding.

"When are you going to tell him the truth, Chakotay?"

"I am telling him the truth," Chakotay growled dangerously.

"Oh yeah? Like the Doctor's 'as easily as I moved you into the hologram' bullshit?" she challenged.

"It *is* that easy," the Doctor interrupted.

"Except it solves NOTHING! I'm going along with this charade because at least this way the Doctor's going to escape down the data stream but I'm fucked if I'm going to let you build Tom's hopes up like this. Do you seriously think the Admiral will accept a clone any more than he will a hologram?"

"No," Chakotay admitted. "This isn't about whether Tom's  body is photonic or flesh and blood. It's an issue of whether or not he's *alive* and life resides in the spirit, not the body."

"So why *are* you cloning Tom a new body?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Because the fal-tor-pan won't work without one," Chakotay replied.

"The what?" B'Elanna demanded, but Chakotay just gave her an enigmatic smile before turning and following his husband to the bridge.

~#~#~#~

"But even if it *is* a hologram, it's all that's left of Tom," Jacqueline pleaded. "It's got seven years of Tom's memories on Voyager to share with us. It's like...well, try and think of it as being a last letter from him, Owen.  Please. At least let me meet it, talk to it, find out how our son lived his last years. I want to know about his life on Voyager, I want to hear how he fell in love with Chakotay. Give me that much, please."

"I won't have that name spoken in this house, Jacqueline."

"He's Tom's husband, our son-in-law."

"He's a Maquis terrorist and a pervert," Owen snapped. "God only knows what Tom saw in him."

"Freedom-fighter."

"What?"

"A Maquis 'freedom-fighter'," Jacqueline corrected sarcastically. "Or don't Starfleet Admirals read their own press-releases?"

"He's a pervert, Jacqueline. A man without conscience or shame. How could he do it? How could he besmirch the memory of his own husband in that way?" Despite his outraged words, his eyes were dark with horror and pain. "He's desecrated our son, Jacqueline. How could he do that?"

"Love?" she suggested softly, reaching out tentatively to stroke his trembling cheek. "Perhaps he just loved him too much to let him go."

For a moment he accepted her caress, leaning into it, drinking her strength into his skin, then he reared back from her touch and his face twisted with rage.

"That's not love. It's sick. Perverted. It's not love."

He stormed to his feet and stamped out of the room, crashing the door shut behind him. His wife stared at the closed door for a long time as slow tears dripped down her perfect cheeks.

"How do you know, Owen?" she whispered sadly. "Do you even remember what love is?"

~#~#~#~

"Are you telling me you doubt the most fundamental concept of your own people's  beliefs?" Chakotay demanded furiously.

"You have misunderstood my statement," Tuvok replied quietly. "I have no doubt whatsoever in the existence of the katra. I am also well aware of the truth that Ambassador Spock's katra re-entered a new physical form after residing for some time within the mind of a host."

"Then why won't you help me?" 

"I did not say I will not help, I merely stated that I believe your logic is flawed."

"WHY?"

"Because you are making decisions based on an unquantifiable fact. The medical records are clear. What the Doctor transferred into the hologram of Tom Paris was not his katra, simply his memory engrams. The exchange of information from Tom Paris's dying mind was electronic not spiritual. What you are suggesting is no more than transplanting those memories into a physical body and the resultant being would be perceived by Starfleet as even more of an abomination than an unauthorized holographic representation of a dead officer."

"You're wrong. I'm not proposing that Tom's consciousness is remapped over the clone's brain in a surgical operation. I'm asking you to speak to your Government on our behalf. We want sanctuary on Vulcan for as long as it takes to perform the ceremony of fal-tor-pan."

"And again I say your logic is flawed. There is no evidence whatsoever that Tom Paris is any more than a holographic representation of the man that you married. Therefore the fal-tor-pan will not work."

"You're saying you think Starfleet is right. That Tom *is* dead," Chakotay accused.

"I am...fond...of Mr. Paris and I respect your love for him. To that extent I will do anything within my power to support your effort to maintain his current existence. However, my logic dictates that he is merely a hologram as Starfleet states and your proposal therefore threatens that existence."

"Then you believe in the existence of a katra but maintain that Tom's wasn't transferred into his holographic body?"

"That is correct."

"You're wrong," Chakotay insisted. "You have to be wrong. Tom's alive. I *know* he's alive."

"You believe that he is," Tuvok corrected quietly, "and the remote possibility *may* exist that you are correct despite all evidence to the contrary. However, are you willing to take the risk?  He is real to you, Chakotay, and ultimately that is all that matters. What if you perform the fal-tor-pan and the ceremony fails? If it is *proven* that Tom is not truly alive, will you then be willing to hand him over to be terminated?"

"No," Chakotay admitted, his expression tortured. "Even if all that remains of Tom *is* his memories, I still could never bear to let him go. Though I admit it would change things between us. He'd no longer be *my* Tom, would he? It would be like having an interactive vid of the man I once loved rather than the real thing. I...I don't think I could touch him again but I *would* still protect him."

"You would preserve the hologram's existence out of respect for your love of Tom Paris, yet that same respect would make it impossible for you to continue your relationship with him?"

"If Tom isn't alive, then *he* isn't Tom," Chakotay agreed reluctantly.

"Then surely it is better not to know," Tuvok suggested.

Chakotay straightened his back and stared Tuvok down.

"None of this discussion is relevant, because Tom *is* alive." he insisted.

"The Vulcan Government may agree to the fal-tor-pan being performed," Tuvok warned. "Yet their condition of agreeing will most likely be that the Lieutenant's matrix is confiscated should the ceremony fail. It would be illogical to offer sanctuary to you both if it is proven that he *is* no more than a hologram."

"Then you're saying that if I'm wrong, that by taking him to Vulcan I'll be delivering Tom to his death sentence?"

"Or perhaps merely confirming that he already is dead," Tuvok suggested quietly.

"He's not," Chakotay replied firmly, although his eyes were shadowed with fear.

"I will contact my Government on your behalf, but be sure you are prepared for the possible consequences."

"I am," Chakotay agreed grimly.

"And is Tom?" Tuvok asked.

"Of course," Chakotay lied.

"Very well," Tuvok agreed.

Chakotay waited until Tuvok left his office, then buried his face in his hands as he wondered how the hell he was now going to convince Tom to agree to his desperate plan.

Go to Part Four