"First"  Part  III
 

She looked directly into his eyes and said, "I 
believe we should discuss sleeping arrangements. Would you 
like to use the bed? "

His eyes widened in surprise, his hands squeezing 
hers. "Uh, I was actually talking about the program."

"As was I. It appears we will be spending an 
extended period of time completing Mr. Paris' holographic 
scenario."

His hands loosened around hers as reason surfaced 
over his swelling emotions. Talking about bed was not 
something he was expecting, and he knew that at times like 
those, he could easily lose himself to his passion for the 
woman standing so very, very close to him. The glitter from 
her dress, the sparkle of her eyes, the flicker of the dim 
light from the lantern swaying over the high posted canopy 
bed, they were enough to forget about the program and pull 
the 'poster child of the master race' closer to his body and 
show her the benefits of humanity. Thomas Eugene Paris 
definitely knew his programs. 

But Harry also knew his mysteries. "I take it that 
you think we should continue the program?"

She stated matter-of-factly, "Mr. Paris did mention 
that 'nothing short of a red-alert' will allow us to leave. 
Given that Captain Paris has falsified his death for the 
purpose of espionage, we can assume his character is not in 
error, and the program is running as designed."

"You're right about that. But about the... sleeping 
arrangements, there's something you may not know about 
classic human mysteries."

"And that is?"

"The night is always young."

Seven raised her eyebrow, bewildered by his 
statement. "Young?"

"Yeah, as in, there is never a calm moment." He said 
with increasing enthusiasm, "Something is always happening 
behind the scenes. A murderer is on the loose, we have a 
traitor in our midst, and the fate of a continent is at 
stake!"

She noted his excitement with amusement. "You have 
been spending too much time engaged in, as you put it, 
'harmless forms of entertainment.'"

"That's because it's fun, Seven. I can unwind in the 
frivolity of it all, relish the recreated world I find 
myself in, and not worry that something's going to come out 
of the corner and bend, spindle, mutilate, or eat me alive." 
There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, but to brush 
it aside he said, "What I love about a classic human mystery 
is the fact that it keeps the mind active without burdening 
it with harsh reality."

She paused to consider his words, and appeared to 
find no fault in them. "Then it appears we will be 'sharing' 
in the fun."

She felt his hands squeeze hers reassuringly. 
"That's the spirit."

"How shall we proceed?" She asked.

He let her go and began pacing the room, looking 
aimless as he thought out loud. "Well, I think the first 
thing we should do is determine who the traitor is, by 
digging up the dirt on the people here."

"Digging up the dirt?"

He turned to her. "I'm sorry, Seven. I've got to cut 
down on the lingo. I get a bit carried away when I'm in the 
middle of a program."

"No need to apologize. I find it a sign of strength 
in your character."

"You do?" He asked, approaching her again.

"Yes, you adapt to your surroundings well. It is a 
beneficial quality I have yet to acquire."

Harry could hear a sadness in her voice, and tried 
to reassure her, caressing her shoulders. "Seven, fitting in 
isn't always an easy thing. It's a bit harder for you 
because you came from the Borg - humanity's mortal enemy. 
There's a lot of prejudice to wade through." He lifted his 
hand to touch the side of her face. "But when one sees past 
all that, they see a vibrant, beautiful individual. You are 
who you are; don't let other people discourage you."

He could feel her cheek rise as she smiled. "Thank 
you, Harry."

"Don't mention it." He said softly. And with that he 
kissed her once on her lips. Moving away to look at her 
face, he saw a confused expression. "Why did you do that?"

"You looked like you needed it."

"I expressed no such need."

He gave an understanding smile. "You 'sounded' like you 
needed it. I did it to make you feel a bit better about 
yourself. To show you that you're not alone."

She put her hands around his face and said, "I now know I am 
not alone." And with that, she kissed him. Her lips were 
tense at first, but feeling the gentle warmth of his mouth, 
she began to gently caress his lips and explore the 
affection emerging. For some reason, their elongated kisses 
aroused her, her face flushing with warmth, her hands eager 
to explore the surface of her partner.

She was forced, however, to stop as Harry broke the kiss. 
"What was that?" He asked suspiciously, eyeing the room.
"I heard nothing." She managed to utter, her eyes intently 
watching his, her hands fondling his hair.

"No, I'm sure I heard something. It sounded like a creak."

"It is irrelevant." She said, trying to direct his attention 
back.

He turned to her and took her hands in to his. 
"Seven, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to use 
the bed that's 1.5 meters away, but that's exactly what 
we're expected to do in the program."

Her reason seemed to resurface as she asked him to 
explain. "Well, in some mysteries, while the main characters 
are, for all intents and purposes... busy... something else 
is happening in the story. They're so involved with, well, 
themselves, that they miss an opportunity to solve the 
story."

"But the story is not what is relevant at this 
time." She said, pulling him closer to herself.

"It is," he insisted, "because, if we were to do 
what we want to do, we wouldn't have the chance to finish 
what we started. We'd be unpleasantly interrupted. That 
isn't what I want to happen. Besides, we'll have plenty of 
opportunities...later."

She looked disappointed, but she could not refute 

his reasoning. She already felt the unpleasantness of being 
interrupted when Harry broke off the kiss; she had a feeling 
that it would be worse if they were engaged in any further 
physical interaction. "Very well. We will continue... 
later."

"I'll make it up to you; I promise," he said, "but, 
not here in... a haunted looking mansion. And definitely not 
in a Tom Paris program!"

She smiled, amused. "Agreed."

"Well then, let's go catch ourselves a thief."

"How shall we proceed?"

"Like I said before, we have to find out more about 
all the people here in the mansion."

"Perhaps we should begin by 'digging up the dirt' on 
the owner of this mansion."

"Mr. Tuvok, good idea. I think a good place to look 
is his library."

"Agreed."

Just before they headed for the bedroom door, Harry 
mentioned to Seven that it would be a good idea that they 
try to keep a low profile about their actions to avoid 
eliciting the suspicions of the other people in the house. 
Seven agreed and stood attentively behind a crouched Ensign, 
who was then slowly turned the doorknob and sliding open the 
door. The guard assigned to their room was sound asleep 
leaning back in a chair he procured from some other part of 
the house. 

Harry stepped slowly and lightly, testing the floor 
for the slightest indication of creaks as he headed down the 
hallway towards the staircase. He was shocked as he felt 
Seven zoom past him, apparently unconcerned with the 
possibility of making a noise and drawing someone's 
attention. She waited for him at the top of the staircase, 
and by the time he arrived he whispered sharply, "What were 
you thinking? You could have stepped on a weak spot and 
waked all the guards!"

"Un--"

"Shh!"

"Unlikely." She said as quietly as she could. "My 
optical implant found no such weaknesses in the floor."

He shook his head. "Your implant. Of course! Well, 
since I now feel like a complete idiot, why don't you lead 
the way to the library?"

"A wise choice, Ensign."

Harry guided by Seven's hand in his, they went down 
the staircase that led to the center of the foyer. In front 
of them was the front entrance, to their left was the 
drawing room, and to their right, the library. They headed 
quietly, yet swiftly towards the large, stained sliding 
library doors, and were almost going to breath a sigh of 
relief when they suddenly heard a grandfather clock strike 
two. While he couldn't see her, Harry knew Seven got a 
fright from the clock as his hand suffered from the strain 
of her squeeze. He managed to keep his pain bottled up until 
they closed the doors behind them once they entered the 
library. The pain of his hand evident in his voice, he 
commented, "I hate those clocks. They scare me to death."

Seven apparently decided to avoid discussing her 
fear. "Are they characteristic of the story?"

"I'm afraid they are."

"Then it seems their existence is to elicit that 
response."

"You're right. But I hate it every time. As much as 
I may know of their existence, I still fall for them."

"Fall for them?"

"Succumb to their purpose."

"I see." Wasting no time, she suggested, "Shall we continue 
our investigation of Mr. Tuvok?"

"Right. I'll get the lantern from the desk over there."
The library, like the other rooms in rest of the house, was 
very large, the ceiling at least half a floor higher than 
normal. It was located in the front of the house, facing 
north, so on one side there were a pair of large windows 
that virtually spanned the entire wall. Their large size 
made the patter of the storm-driven rain more pronounced, 
silenced only by the deadening insulation of the books that 
lined the three other walls. The door to the library opened 
from the center of the west wall, and to their right was an
arrangement of leather sofas, one facing the windows, the 
other two sections on opposite sites of the centerpiece. To 
their left was a wide desk, papers and files strewn all over 
it, a burning lantern sitting on a corner. 

Harry approached from behind the desk, and caught a glimpse 
at the papers.  The bold letters "Top Secret" on all the 
files caught his attention. There were roughly a dozen files 
scattered on the desk, a few of them open. Picking up one of 
the sheets, he brought it in closer to the lantern and read 
its contents. "Hey, Seven, I think I've found what we're 
looking for." He whispered to get her attention.

As she approached he stated, "It looks like Mr. Tuvok has 
been keeping a close eye on all the guests in the house."

"In what way?"

"It looks like in every way." Sharing view of one of the 
files, he said, "Look at this, he's got detailed reports on 
every aspect of Dr. Zimmerman's life, going back over 20 
years."

Seven picked up another file on the desk and examined it. 
"It appears he has an equally detailed file on Mrs. 
Chakotay."

Flipping through the remaining files, Harry noted, "It looks 
like all the files are as detailed."

"I do not understand why Mr. Tuvok would have these files."
"Neither do I, but the only way we're going to find out is 
by reading them all."

She agreed, so they stood beside each other, flipping 
through all the dossiers on the holographic guests. Reading 
through the Doctor's file, he discovered that while Mr. 
Zimmerman was German by blood, he was British by birth. 

"It's relevance?" Seven asked.

"It might not be relevant at all, but given that this is 
1936, at the outset of the Second World War between the 
Germans and French, with the Brits being France's ally, it 
may be significant."

"Captain Paris did say that Dr. Zimmerman was going to steal 
the aeroplane plans and sell them to Germany or Italy."

"True. But something about the Doc's past doesn't add up. 
The file says he lived in London for 10 years before moving 
to Berlin. Spending his early youth in the UK would give him 
some attachment to it. I find it hard to believe he'd be 
willing to destroy it by putting it under authoritarian 
rule."

"Perhaps he had an unpleasant childhood."

"Maybe, but it doesn't explain why he married a woman who 
was British by blood, but German by birth."

"I fail to see how this is relevant." Seven stated, annoyed.

Deep in thought, he explained, "Well, depending on where you 
were from, how one was identified was important. In the 24th 
century, most of us identify with the most inclusive title: 
human. But up to 400 years ago, one's family history was 
very important. Sometimes it was based on bloodline, 
sometimes it was based on where you were born. Either way, 
it was important to define oneself in terms of a specific 
social, cultural, or political affiliation. To mix the two 
was rare, especially in the mid 20th century when the world 
essentially went to war along ethnic and cultural lines. The 
Doc's mixed heritage puts into question whether he is the 
traitor we're looking for."

"We must not forget that he shot Captain Paris."

Harry gave a resigned sigh. "True. But that doesn't 
necessarily mean he's the traitor. Tom did say that they 
didn't know what happened to the plans."

"If it wasn't Dr. Zimmerman, than who else could have stolen 
them? And why has he disappeared?"

"Well, if we continue my reasoning, his wife is a possible 
candidate.  According to her file, she was an orphaned 
child, left at the doorstep of a German chapel. The only way 
the priest could tell she was British was by the type of 
fabric baby Kes was wrapped in. Her knowing of that fact 
could be motive enough for her to dislike Britain enough to 
dominate it."

She tilted her head in modest agreement. "She did state that 
she didn't think the Doctor would be capable of murder."

"And he is a 'Doctor' after all." Harry added. "What did you 
find in Mrs. Chakotay's file?"

"Of predominant interest is the fact that she is 
well-travelled. She was born in Britain, yet moved to France 
when she was 12, moved to Germany at 20, and the United 
States at 26."

"And it was there she met and married Mr. Chakotay?"

"When she was 27, yes."

Harry paused a moment to think before saying, "I know this 
is a long shot, but why don't you look at all the files and 
find something that may associate them all with each other."
After Seven agreed, he handed her the files a couple at a 
time. It wasn't until he reached the bottom of the pile that 
he stopped. "Is something wrong, Harry?"

There was both curiosity and apprehension in his voice. "Uh, 
not really, but the last file here is about us."

"Us? I thought each file was about a single individual."

"That's what I thought. But, this one is... about us."

"What are its contents?"

Harry slowly opened the file, his mind succumbing to a wave 
of uncertainty. The feeling was more pronounced given the 
fact that he had to slowly open the file, unlike accessing a 
PADD where information would appear at a touch of a button. 
The first page slowly came into view, as the shadow from the 
file cover slid off the page.

Finally opening the file, he saw two pictures, one headshot 
of Harry at the top of the page, and one headshot of Seven 
at the middle of the page. He glanced over it and discovered 
it as the basic biographical information page. Apprehension 
took hold again as he flipped over to the other page, to 
look at 'the dirt' Ensign Tom Paris had written on the two 
of them.

He looked. Then he looked again. And finally shook his head, 
giving a frustrated sigh of relief. "What is wrong?" Seven 
asked.

"Nothing." He stated. He showed her the file, which read, 

"Congratulations, you've found the top secret files."

"It's another one of Tom's messages to us from the outside." 
Harry said.

"So there is no information on 'us'?"

"No, there isn't."

She paused before saying, "Very well, I will examine the 
remaining files." And with that she went over to the sofa 
and sat down to read. 

"Don't you need the lantern?" Harry asked.

"No, I can read it with my ocular implant."

"Your implant; right." He said, reminding himself again of 
Seven's obvious advantages.

While Seven went to read, Harry took the lantern and perused 
the countless books in the library. Most of the ones on the 
back wall were of a scientific nature. Each book had some 
unique perspective on aerodynamics, some of them wrong, but 
in print nonetheless. Some of the books were collections of 
government documents, names, locations, detailed schematics. 
It appeared as if the holographic Tuvok held dossiers on 
hundreds, if not thousands of individuals all across Europe, 
a rather curious thing for an inventor to have.

Looking at the long line of books, he noticed one that 
seemed out of place. Despite the majority of the books on 
the wall were scientific and governmental, this one book was 
on gardening. He reached for it, but instead of taking it, 
the book only tilted outwards.

Suddenly, on the east wall, a portion of the bookshelf slid 
open like a door, revealing a lighted entrance. Seven heard 
the scraping noise, and quickly approached Harry. "How did 
you find this?"

"I was just looking at the books. I thought one looked out 
of place, and wanted to know if there was something special 
about it. Obviously there is."

Peering in, Seven noted, "It is a tunnel."

"Correction," he said, amused, "it is a secret passageway."

"Are these 'passageways' customary in a mystery?"

"In some, but not all. I didn't think there would be one in 
this program, but come to think of it, it makes sense. We're 
in an old mansion; we have the lord of the manor being an 
inventor working on a top secret project, and we have the 
entire European continent at stake over the possession of 
his design plans.  It would seem too obvious that Tuvok 
would use an explicitly designated room in the house to 
work."

"The butler, Vorik, seemed to know about Tuvok's work. He 
died telling him that the plans were gone."

"Which means some, or all of the people who live in the 
mansion know of Tuvok's work. He'd likely have handpicked 
each and every one of them to find the most trustworthy
people. That explains all the files on people."

"His death, and the stealing of the plans suggest that 
someone has betrayed him for reasons yet unknown."

"Yes, but I think the answer lies somewhere in this 
passageway. Come on."  The tunnel was made of cold concrete, 
it being barely high enough for Harry and Seven to walk 
upright. They decided to leave the lantern in the library as 
the tunnel was well lit. "It appears as if Tuvok's workshop 
runs on its own generator."

"Apparently." Seven said behind Harry as they turned to 
their right down a flight of concrete steps. They seemed to 
walk down about three or four flights of stairs that curled 
round and round before they thought they were approaching 
the underground workshop.

As they approached, they could hear chatter coming from the 
lab, but because of the echo of the tunnel, they couldn't 
decipher the words. They finally reached the end of the 
tunnel, but stayed in it because the entrance opened to the 
rest of the lab. Peering behind the security of the wall, 
Harry saw a lab that was at least three floors high, filled 
with giant electronic machines, heavy manufacturing 
equipment, and...lord Tuvok.

Expressing his discovery to Seven, she said, "Perhaps we 
should make contact with him."

He was about to agree when he heard a telephone ring. Tuvok 
answered, and to Harry's surprise, he was speaking German. 
"He's working for the Germans!"

Seven seemed unphased by the discovery. "Then, Dr. Zimmerman 
is working for the British?"

"It makes sense. Someone from the inside must've felt what 
Tuvok was doing was wrong and decided to stop him, or at 
least give away his secrets to the British to hamper his 
plans."

"Enough to kill a fellow worker?"

"'For Queen and Country,' Seven." Harry recited. "Like I 
said before, people were very loyal to a specific social, 
cultural, or political affiliation.  Sometimes that would 
surpass the importance of an individual's life."

"For the good of the many." Seven said.

"In a very 20th century way." Harry emphasized.

Getting back to the point, Seven asked, "If the Doctor is 
not the enemy, then what shall we consider Captain Paris? He 
believes, or has stated to us, that he is working for 'The 
Ministry.' Is he deceiving us, or is he simply misinformed?"

"I don't know, but I think this afternoon, we're going to 
have to put Captain Tom's plan to work and see who takes 
what bait."

He turned to pay attention to Tuvok again. It seemed odd 
that Tuvok would be the enemy, but perhaps it was just the 
fact that he only knew Tuvok as a Vulcan. Vulcans were 
rarely the enemy. Then again, it was Tom's program, and 
Harry knew how much Tom 'enjoyed' Tuvok's company. Trying to 
stay focused, he said to Seven, "I wish I could understand 
German."

Harry got silence for as response. He turned to Seven and 
found her lying unconscious behind him. He tried to check on 
her condition, until he saw a dark, shadowed figure standing 
above him. It was the last thing he saw before falling into 
unconsciousness.
 
 

***********

RiF Round Robin to be Continued...

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