Caretaker by L. A. Graf

out of the way. Likewise, the reassurance of following Janeway’s straightforward commands right now seemed to calm him somehow—as though he was confident he could accomplish what she expected of him, and he was eager to prove that to her as well as to himself. She realized with a wry smile that labeling Paris as rebellious had been the biggest mistake Starfleet had made in his official record. He wasn’t rebellious, he was unsure, and they’d cut him loose and made him an officer too soon. If they’d held him around as a noncom for just another two years, he probably wouldn’t be here right now.
    Which means none of us would be here right now. Janeway shook the thought away with an irritable sigh and pushed to her feet.
    No sense dwelling on any of the might-have-beens now. Just like Paris, she was going to have to make do with the way things were now, and not worry about how they could have been avoided “if only.”
    Paris and Kim joined her at the foot of the stairs, pulling together into a close circle so their voices wouldn’t carry.
    “The crew’s scattered around this farm, Captain,” Paris reported, “but they’re all accounted for.”
    That was something, at least. Janeway nodded and glanced around to take a quick count of who was in sight. “Move around,” she told Paris and Kim. “Scan the area. See if you can find anything that might be a holographic projector.”
    “Have some fresh corn on the cob.”
    She jerked a look over her shoulder, startled by the nearness of the old woman’s voice. Absurd as it was to expect she’d hear a hologram coming, Janeway still didn’t like the thought of being so vulnerable around any group of people whose species she wasn’t even sure of. She pushed Kim and Paris away from her, waving them on their way, and turned to place herself in front of the old woman as if that could prevent the hologram from following the younger officers if it wanted to. Old habits died hard.
    “Can you tell me why we’re here?” she asked, ignoring the proffered plate of corn.
    The old woman cocked her head, her incongruous smile never fading. “We don’t mean you any harm—sorry if we’ve put you out.
    Just put your feet up and get comfortable while you wait.”
    She lifted the steaming plate toward Janeway again, and the captain gently pushed it aside, trying to keep frustration out of her frowning.
    “Wait for what?”
    “Isn’t anyone hungry?” the old woman called to no one in particular.
    She stepped around Janeway and held up her plate in gay exhibition.
    “Come now, make yourselves at home. Sorry to put you out …”
    Apparently, the program—or whatever—wasn’t equipped to deal well with direct questions. Janeway slipped her tricorder from her belt to scan the woman’s departure. Nothing new, but nothing useful, either. She closed the device up with a sigh.
    Bounding out of the crowd, its silky coat floating around it like a cloud with every leap, a big puff of a dog galloped across the yard to bumble to its haunches in front of Janeway. She wasn’t sure what engaged her more—the gray-and-gold coat and laughing eyes that reminded her so much of Bear, or the sloppy wet ball the dog dropped on her feet. A sudden throb of homesickness caught her by surprise. The thought of never seeing Bear, or Mark, or Earth again lay inside her heart like a lump of black glass, and reminded her with stinging force that this dog, this place, these people, weren’t even real. Unlike the ones she’d left seventy thousand light-years behind her.
    Picking up the soggy ball, she threw it toward a spot of open lawn without bothering to watch where it landed. The dog barked once with excitement, then tore off happily after its toy.
    Janeway turned her back on it, choosing instead to keep her heart and mind on her own people while she considered.
    The dog barreled past them in a thunder of legs and hair and tail, nearly tripping Paris as it skidded frantically in front of him