Fresh-faced, recent Academy graduate Ensign Ben Lawry sat at the conn looking anxious. She couldn’t blame him. Starfleet had just invested countless hours and valuable resources equipping nine vessels, including Galen, to travel to the Delta quadrant. Quantum slipstream drives were a relatively new propulsion system, and the critical phase variance calculations required to sustain a slipstream corridor— though calculated by the main computer—were executed by the flight controller. Even the slightest error could produce disastrous results. It was a challenge for a single vessel. Within a few minutes, Lawry and eight fellow helmsmen would be expected to coordinate their efforts so the entire fleet could journey together through a single corridor. Such a task would have unnerved even an experienced pilot with the sternest constitution. Lawry’s taut mien suggested he’d forgone both a good night’s sleep and breakfast before reporting for this morning’s monumental challenge.
The young man’s nervousness reminded Glenn of her days as a resident, when she’d had the overwhelming sense that she was an imposter who had been assigned a task for which she was not prepared and who would therefore be exposed at any moment.
Glenn rose and went over to him. “Ensign Lawry,” she said, careful to keep her voice low.
“Yes, sir?” Lawry replied. His spine stiffened and his shoulders tensed.
“Do me a favor?” Glenn asked.
He was surprised to hear what sounded like a personal request from his commanding officer. He swiveled his chair to face her and replied, “If I can, sir.”
“Breathe,” Glenn said intently.
It sounded like an order, so he complied. His attempt was shallower than Glenn would have wished, but it did manage to relax his shoulders a little.
“Is there anything else, sir?” he asked, clearly wondering if he was missing something.
“Again,” Glenn commanded, “a little deeper.”
Lawry breathed deeply and his face finally lost the aspect of a trapped animal.
“What’s our status?” Glenn asked.
“We’re awaiting clearance from Voyager to begin the first test run, sir.”
“Then let us await what will surely come without fear of unforeseen consequences,” Glenn said, repeating a personal mantra that often sustained her when she faced daunting situations.
“Yes, sir.” Lawry nodded with clear and firmly set eyes as he turned back to his post.
Glenn heard the faint swish of the bridge doors opening but refrained from directing her attention there. It was difficult at times to remember that one could choose which stimuli to respond to and which to ignore, but she approached her command decisions the same way she had been trained to approach her medical ones. Awareness of potential distractions was helpful until it limited your ability to focus on the task at hand. Right now, her task was to make sure all the officers on alpha shift were performing their assigned duties efficiently and with composure. If her attention was required elsewhere, she’d wait until someone requested it.
“Good morning, Captain,” the smooth and confident voice of her chief medical officer said congenially.
“Good morning,” Glenn replied, turning to address the Doctor. Standing a pace behind him was her engineering and holographic specialist, Lieutenant Reginald Barclay. “To you both,” she added quickly.
“Lieutenant Barclay has a request he would like to make, Captain,” the Doctor said.
She hadn’t known the Doctor or Lieutenant Barclay for very long. Her first impression of the Doctor had been positive. She found it refreshing that his creator had selected to use his own image as a framework for the hologram rather than some idealized physical template. Thus, the incredibly advanced hologram, who contained within his program the medical knowledge of thousands of individual physicians, stood before her in the guise of a medium-height, balding, middle-age human male. The Doctor was a highly skilled physician and his obvious enthusiasm for his current assignment was contagious. Glenn looked forward to having him on board for their upcoming mission, given his previous experience in the Delta quadrant.
Lieutenant Barclay was a little harder to wrap one’s mind around. His record was a testament to years of solid service. He had distinguished himself repeatedly aboard Enterprise, and he had gone on to do seminal work at Project Pathfinder
with the eminent holographic designer Lewis Zimmerman. But Barclay’s timid nature belied his accomplishments. Glenn wanted to sit Barclay down and gently assure him that there was less to fear in the universe than he clearly believed there to be. The lieutenant was definitely the oddest confluence of character traits she had ever encountered in a fellow officer.
“And is there some reason the lieutenant isn’t making that request himself?” Glenn asked.
She regretted her words as soon as they left her lips. Lieutenant Barclay responded by studiously examining the base of her chair.
“Lieutenant Barclay is more than capable of making the request himself, Captain,” the Doctor replied in a way that suggested he hoped rather than believed this to be true. “However, I wanted you to be aware that he has my full support in his request.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Glenn replied. “You may consider me so apprised. Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir, ma’am, I’m sorry, Commander … er, Captain,” Barclay stammered.
“‘Sir’ is fine,” Glenn said encouragingly.
Barclay took a deep and restorative breath before continuing: “It occurred to me that this test run presents us with an excellent opportunity to evaluate multiple systems with which I’m sure we will all wish to become more comfortable throughout the course of our journey.”
Glenn tried to guess what he was getting at but found herself at a loss.
“Such as?” she asked.
“The ESHs,” Barclay said with a little more confidence.
“The Emergency Security Holograms?” Glenn asked.
“Yes, sir. Yes, that’s exactly, those are precisely …” Barclay said, losing a little steam.
“While we have tested these holograms extensively at Jupiter Station, this would be our first opportunity to test them under more stressful and realistic circumstances,” the Doctor added on Barclay’s behalf without missing a beat.
“Do either of you foresee any likelihood that we will be boarded by hostile aliens during our upcoming test flight?” Glenn asked, biting back a smile.
“Of course not, no,” Barclay said, deflating further.
“However,” the Doctor interrupted, clearly unwilling to be dissuaded by simple logic, “the few living and breathing officers aboard the Galen might be unaccustomed to several of the features of our holographic security contingent, including their appearance; the sooner they become accustomed to seeing the ESHs, the easier it will be for them to adapt to this capability of our magnificent little ship.”
The commander felt her brow wrinkling. “Their appearance?” she asked. “They’re security officers, aren’t they?”
“Yes. However, their matrices were based on templates of some of the more fearsome species Starfleet has encountered throughout the years. They are all, of course, programmed to respond as any Starfleet officer would, though their battle tactics are suited to the strengths of their particular species,” Barclay said. “The Gorn, for instance, might utilize their tail in …”
“I’m sorry, did you say Gorn?” Glenn asked, taken aback.
“Yes, sir,” the Doctor said, smiling proudly. “The ESG Mark-1 has proved to be quite fierce in hand-to-hand combat, though the Pahkwa-thanh and the Hirogen also possess unique capabilities that I’m sure you’ll find impressive.”
Until that moment, Glenn hadn’t really considered the appearance of her holographic security staff. Somehow she had assumed that like the Doctor and subsequent versions of the Emergency Medical Holograms developed throughout the years, the officers would have been based on humanoid templates. Glenn recognized this as an inappropriate ethnocentric bias the moment it occurred to her. The command
er wondered if Ensign Lawry, Ensign Drur at ops, Lieutenant Velth at tactical, and Ensign Selah at science, all humanoids, might also be surprised to find themselves suddenly surrounded by alien officers.
“I see your point,” Glenn said. “Thank you for the suggestion, Lieutenant Barclay. Please proceed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Barclay said and nodded more confidently as the Doctor beamed beside him.
As they departed the bridge, Glenn found herself wondering exactly what she’d gotten herself into when she had accepted command.
Breathe, she reminded herself. Just breathe.
Voyager’s first officer, Lieutenant Commander Thomas Paris, usually tried to take things in stride. As a veteran of Voyager’s unprecedented excursion to the Delta quadrant, there weren’t many things that could shake his confidence or set his nerves on edge.
But as he followed the captain from her ready room to their seats, surveying the crew on the way, his gut tensed. Every one of Voyager’s alpha shift bridge posts were currently being manned by their assigned officers—Lasren at ops, Kim at tactical, Patel at science, and Conlon at engineering—with one glaring exception. The helm was still under the control of its gamma shift officer, Ensign Gleez.
Captain Afsarah Eden, an ebony-skinned, lithe woman who looked many years younger than the fifty-plus years Tom estimated her to be, seated herself gracefully in the center chair as Tom took the one to her left. After spending so much time on Voyager’s original bridge, Tom still found it a little weird to see the new, extra chair to Eden’s right, meant for a mission specialist or the Admiral of the Fleet, should the admiral choose to observe from the bridge. This morning, like most mornings since the fleet had launched, Admiral Batiste had clearly chosen to leave matters in Eden’s capable hands. Paris still couldn’t believe the two of them had once been married and—despite what had to have been a painful divorce—still managed to serve together cordially.
Though Eden appeared calm, there was no mistaking the mild displeasure in her tone as she leaned toward Tom and asked, “We seem to be one crewman short this morning, don’t we?”
Keeping his voice low, Paris replied, “I’m sure she’s on her way.”
“She knows what time alpha shift begins, right?” Eden asked lightly. Tom thought she was teasing him, but they hadn’t served together long enough as captain and first officer for him to be certain.
“If there’s any confusion on that point, I’ll be certain to clear it up,” Paris assured the captain. As Voyager’s former flight controller, Tom knew that on a day like today the most dangerous place on the ship would have been between him and his helm. After days of simulations it was time for the first test run of their new slipstream drive. Gwyn should have arrived early just out of a sense of enthusiasm. Further, her terribly conspicuous absence reflected badly on Tom’s ability as first officer. Thus far he’d found Gwyn competent, if a little intense.
Finally, the turbolift doors opened and every head on the bridge turned to see Aytar Gwyn bent over, struggling to pull on one of her boots. Only once the task was complete did the young woman realize she was the center of attention. Righting herself quickly, she ran one hand through her short, spiked, deep-blue hair, briefly revealing a series of light brown geometric shapes running along her hairline, lifted her chin defiantly, and hurried to her post.
Paris wasn’t impressed but noted a slight smile on Harry’s lips as he lowered his head and returned his attention to his station, where it belonged.
Gods help us all if Harry takes a liking to her, Tom thought disdainfully. From the looks of things, Gwyn was shaping up to be a handful. The last thing Tom wanted to hear was his best friend defending clearly inappropriate behavior.
“Good of you to join us, Ensign,” Eden said with obvious disapproval.
“Not a problem at all, Captain,” Gwyn replied cheerfully as she quickly configured her controls and began her pre-test checklist.
“It will be if you’re not at your post on time from this day forward,” Paris added.
“Understood, sir,” Gwyn replied with a nod.
Paris believed that a certain amount of nerve was essential in a good pilot. Any number of people could master the technical skills of the conn, but it took a special combination of cocky and cool to make a great pilot. You had to live for the risks but also be able to intuit which risks were worth taking. Gwyn was already choosing poorly, and that hardly boded well for her.
“Lieutenant Conlon, what’s our status?” Eden asked.
“All vessels are standing by, Captain,” Conlon replied. Tom did not know Voyager’s new chief engineer yet. She had just transferred from the da Vinci and had quickly come up to speed on the new engine specs and already appeared to treat the slipstream drive with the same proprietary pride that B’Elanna had reserved for the warp engines.
“Mister Lasren, open a channel to the fleet,” Eden ordered.
“Channel open, Captain.”
“This is Captain Eden to all fleet vessels. Go to yellow alert and stand by to coordinate slipstream flight.”
After a moment, Lasren reported, “All fleet vessels signal ready, Captain.”
“Very good.” Eden nodded. “Maintain open channel, Ensign. Nancy?”
Conlon muttered something too soft for Paris to hear. He guessed it was her wish for the drive to behave itself over the next few minutes. Finally, in a steady voice she called out, “We’re ready, Captain.”
Eden nodded sharply. If the test run unnerved her in the least, Paris couldn’t tell.
“Ensign Gwyn, confirm heading one three six mark two,” Eden requested.
“Confirmed.”
“All fleet vessels match course and speed, one quarter impulse.”
As Tom imagined the eight vessels that composed the fleet lining up like soldiers behind Voyager, his heart skipped a beat. He suddenly realized how much he envied Gwyn her job right now.
“Course and speed confirmed,” Gwyn reported.
“Increase speed to full impulse,” Eden requested.
“Confirmed,” Gwyn stated after a brief pause.
“Ensign Gwyn, initiate formation of slipstream corridor on my mark: five, four, three, two, one … mark.”
Tom felt the same slight lurch he had always imagined during the hundreds of simulations when Voyager had tested slipstream technology years earlier. He knew it was an illusory response to the sight of the formation of the violent, pulsing white tunnel that churned around the ship once the slipstream was initiated, rather than a sign that the ship’s inertial dampeners were failing.
“ Voyager has achieved slipstream velocity,” Gwyn confirmed from the helm. It was a testament to how far Starfleet had come in perfecting this technology that the ship moved with such grace and ease into a speed that made warp nine point nine look like a casual stroll.
“ Esquiline, confirm synchronization,” Conlon requested.
“Confirmed,” a male voice crackled over the comm.
Over the next thirty seconds, each successive vessel, the Quirinal, Planck, Galen, Curie, Demeter, Achilles, and Hawking, added their confirmation that they had successfully entered the corridor Voyager had formed.
Paris proudly announced, “The Voyager fleet has entered synchronous velocity.” He had to quell the urge to applaud Conlon. By any objective standard she and her fellow fleet engineers had just accomplished an extraordinary achievement.
“Well done,” Eden agreed. “Maintain heading.”
“Aye, Captain,” Gwyn replied.
The fleet would travel approximately three thousand light-years in the next eight minutes. Tom studied the incoming station reports that were constantly updated on the console in his armrest and sighed deeply. He hoped for the best, but experience had taught him that when playing with fire it was best to remain cautiously optimistic.
“Vorik, I’m reading a spike in your stabilization grid. Is there a problem?” Conlon inquired of Hawking’s chief engineer. Tom knew that bringing u
p the rear in this exercise was even more challenging than taking the lead, which was why Vorik’s ship had been singled out for this honor. The Hawking’s position was the most dangerous, but Tom knew Vorik could pull it off. He had trained under B’Elanna for seven years in the Delta quadrant, and served as Voyager’s chief engineer for three years after that. He’d only requested a transfer for this mission to serve under another old mentor, Captain Bal Itak, who commanded Hawking.
“The phase variance modulations are off by a factor of point zero, zero, zero, zero, one eight,” Vorik reported calmly, “but they remain within tolerance.”
“That’s got to make for a bumpy ride, though,” Paris heard Gwyn mutter to herself.
Suddenly the bridge began to rattle.
Paris cast a quick glance at Conlon who was simultaneously trying to diagnose the problem while monitoring the status of the rest of the fleet.
“Adjusting phase modulation algorithm to compensate and transmitting to the fleet,” Patel advised Conlon quickly.
“Thanks, Patel,” Conlon replied absently.
Unfortunately the new calculations were still off as Voyager continued to quake and shudder.
This had always been the challenge with slipstream propulsion, as Paris knew all too well. Even in the most stable corridor, random phase variances made maintaining course and speed at such incredible velocities difficult. The vast majority of Starfleet’s efforts in making the drive viable had been in mastering the processing speed and complicated calculations required of the main computer to adjust to the variances.
“ Voyager, this is the Achilles ,” a strained voice echoed over the comm.
“Go ahead, Achilles ,” Eden replied to the ship’s pilot, Ensign Mirren.
“Our stabilization field is approaching tolerance.” “Understood,” Eden said, her frustration mounting. Turning to Conlon she asked, “Do we need to abort?”
Conlon nodded grimly, clearly sharing the captain’s disappointment.
“Eden to the fleet, prepare to return to full impulse on Voyager’s mark. Ensign Gwyn …”
Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy Page 3
