“Beyond a lack of imagination, nothing at this time,” Seven replied.
“Let’s not judge them too harshly until we’ve had a chance to get to know them,” Eden chided her gently. She then called out, “Eden to the bridge.”
“Go ahead, Captain,” Ensign Lasren replied.
“Have we received any response yet to our friendship messages or hails?”
“No, Captain,” Lasren replied. “We have been transmitting continuously, per your orders, for the past hour.”
“Thank you, Ensign. You’ll let me know if that changes. Eden out.” Turning to Patel she asked, “So how many life-forms are we talking about, total?”
“More than forty billion, ma’am.”
“Forty,” Eden said aloud, troubled.
“Captain?” Patel asked.
“That’s a lot of people who could, it seems, easily answer our hails. You have to wonder why no one is willing to do that.”
“Indeed,” Seven said ominously.
Eden had only one question left. Addressing Seven she asked, “So were the Neyser, Greech, Irsk, or Dulaph assimilated by the Borg?”
“No,” Seven replied.
“No?”
“They were considered unworthy of assimilation. Their biological and technological distinctiveness would have added nothing to the Collective’s perfection.”
“I see,” Eden replied, suddenly relieved for the four species in question. “Carry on,” she ordered. As the captian left the lab, her thoughts immediately turned to the away team she would assemble to investigate the aliens should they still get no response.
The Hawking’s bridge was small compared with Voyager ’s, but nowhere near as claustrophobic as Admiral Batiste found the Galen ’s. The captain and executive officer’s seats were located in a sunken, circular area in the bridge’s center, separated by a control panel. A few steps forward and down was the conn, occupied by a single flight controller. The elevated rear bank of science stations completed the configuration, with a single station accessible as needed for tactical or engineering personnel located on the starboard side, nearest the viewscreen.
Captain Itak had insisted that the admiral take his seat while on the bridge, and now sat beside him in the XO’s spot. Despite the courtesy, Batiste was growing impatient. He had always admired Vulcans’ attention to detail, but listening to Lieutenant Vorik and Captain Itak debate, ad nauseam, the probable origins of the subspace instabilities they had been analyzing made him long for the nearest airlock.
Vorik was convinced, given the marginal difference in their current scans and those taken by Voyager years earlier, that the instabilities were remnants of the transwarp tunnels the Borg had carved out of the area surrounding their transwarp hub. Itak countered that they were ancient transwarp tunnels. He suggested they were either naturally occurring, or early efforts by the Borg that were ultimately abandoned.
“Gentlemen,” Batiste interrupted, “is it fair to say, at this point, that without further data, it is impossible to determine to any degree of certainty exactly where these instabilities came from?”
“Define degree of certainty, Admiral,” Itak requested.
Batiste was spared the need to kill one of his captains by Ensign Bloom at ops.
“Captain, scanners have detected a cube-shaped vessel point two six four one light-years from our present position.”
“Are our scanners malfunctioning?” Itak asked.
“No, sir.”
“By my calculations,” Itak said, confirming his words simultaneously by running a quick algorithm on a padd, “we should have detected that vessel thirteen point six minutes ago.”
Batiste couldn’t have cared less. If the vessel in question was constructed by the same hands that had built the first one they encountered, things were about to get interesting.
“The vessel is floating free in space,” Bloom replied, clearly attempting to justify his perceived inadequacy. “Long-range scans cataloged it as debris.”
“Life signs?” Itak demanded evenly.
“None, sir.”
“Adjust course and speed to intercept,” Batiste ordered.
“Admiral, do you believe that is a wise course at this juncture?” Itak asked.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have given the order, Captain.”
“Captain,” Vorik began tonelessly from the forward starboard station, “the cube is of identical design and configuration as the vessel previously encountered, with one considerable exception.”
Itak turned his chair to face Vorik’s station.
“It is twice the size of the previous vessel.”
Batiste smiled to himself.
Things are definitely about to get interesting.
The Hawking reduced speed as the cube came into view.
Vorik made a point of noting that the cube’s current location was in close proximity to the endpoints of four collapsed transwarp corridors.
“Sir,” Bloom said, “there appears to be only one power system operable aboard the cube. A weak subspace transmission is being sent out on an extremely narrow frequency.”
“I would like to hear that transmission, Ensign Bloom,” Itak ordered.
Moments later, a low buzz, spiced with an occasional burst of static, came through the comm system. Then, countless voices joined as one said, Please accept the offering of the Indign .
There was a brief pause and the message repeated as Itak’s eyes found Batiste’s.
“Lieutenant Vorik, do Voyager’s logs contain any record of a race known as the Indign?” Batiste asked.
“No, Admiral.”
“Are the cube’s shields up?”
“No, Admiral.”
“Does the cube contain breathable atmosphere?”
“No, Admiral.”
“I’m going over there to take a look,” Batiste said, rising to his feet.
“Admiral, I must advise against that action,” Itak replied, clearly as alarmed as it was possible for a Vulcan to be at the suggestion.
“Your advice is noted,” Willem replied perfunctorily. “Hawking is to hold position here and maintain transporter locks. Lieutenant Vorik, Lieutenant Lern, and Security Chief Griggs, suit up. You’re with me.”
The transporter beam released Vorik in the center of a ten-square-meter room shrouded in darkness. Hand beacons were immediately activated revealing stark, unadorned walls and a single opening leading from the chamber.
“I thought this was supposed to be the ship’s bridge,” Batiste said, his gruff tone evident even through the tinny quality created by the environmental suits the team wore.
“We are in the precise center of the vessel, Admiral,” Vorik advised. “The vessel’s power systems have either been damaged or inoperable for some time, and as this is the source of the transmission, I believe that assumption was logical.”
“Spread out and let’s see if we can find the source,” Batiste replied.
The admiral played his wrist beacon over the walls and eventually discovered above the opening’s upper-right corner a small comm station. After disabling it, he signaled for the team to follow him through the opening.
Before them was a metal-framed catwalk with few visible support struts and wires but no guardrails. After fifteen ginger steps, the team’s footfalls creating disconcerting echoes all around them, Batiste made a fist, motioning for the others to halt. Vorik stepped closer and peering over the admiral’s shoulder saw a steep metal staircase that descended too far into the darkness for their light to penetrate. Vorik played his light above, and saw nothing as the blackness swallowed up his beam. The ship was vast.
Batiste lowered his hand, and the group began down the staircase.
“Steady as we go,” Batiste said. “There’s nothing to hold on to.”
Vorik wished to pull out his tricorder for a more definitive scan, but given the sharpness of the angle and the obvious safety risks he opted to refrain.
At junctures spaced appr
oximately ten meters apart, narrow catwalks would extend from small landings to the left and right. Batiste paused at the first one, but after searching the gloom to find only more darkness, pressed forward. It seemed likely to Vorik that he intended to reach bottom before beginning a more thorough examination.
After passing seventeen landings, the team finally reached the end of the staircase. Vorik was unable to shake the sense that they were in an incredibly large, empty space. He heard Lieutenant Lern activate his tricorder and immediately did the same.
“Admiral, I am detecting organic remains,” Lern advised.
“Where?”
Lern paused to confirm the reading that Vorik was also attempting to analyze and replied, “All around us, sir. The nearest ones are one hundred fifty meters ahead.”
Batiste nodded and led the team forward. When they had closed the distance before them to fewer than twenty meters, vague shapes began to emerge from the darkness.
Vorik saw a structure reminiscent of a Borg alcove. It was just large enough to hold an average-size humanoid. However, the figure occupying that alcove was obviously not there by choice, restrained at the neck, waist, wrists, and ankles by heavy metallic bands. The horror of its last moments of life was plain in its wide-eyed and openmouthed terror. Vorik recognized the species.
“Admiral, this is a member of the Ventu tribe, native to Ledos.”
Batiste stepped closer to the tortured figure. Its once bronze skin had a grayish sheen in death. Long, black hair was matted to its neck and shoulders. Chafing at the wrists suggested that it had struggled, probably until its strength had gone, against its restraints.
“How did this man die?” Batiste asked.
“Oxygen deprivation,” Lern replied. “By my calculations, this vessel has been without life support for approximately three years.”
“Why hasn’t the corpse deteriorated more in that time?” Batiste asked.
“The ambient temperature, which is below freezing, prevented decomposition,” Lern said dispassionately.
Vorik moved his light to the left of the Ventu and discovered similar alcoves as far as he could see. Griggs did the same while Lern continued to scan with his tricorder. A brief visual inspection confirmed that the entire chamber was filled, floor to ceiling, with thousands of dead.
Vorik was able to identify many of the dead: Dinaali, Kraylor, Nygean, Bosaal, Ledosian, even the short, rotund natives of the Hegemony. There were hundreds more who defied categorization.
Finally, Griggs broke the dismal silence. “How did they all get here? Who are these Indign that they would do such a thing?”
“I think the real question, Mister Griggs, is for whom, or what, the Indign intended this offering,” Batiste replied coldly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The third planet contained ten continent-sized landmasses, leaving the remaining eighty-five percent of the surface covered in water. Nearly every square meter was in use, from agricultural to industrial purposes, including starship construction. The cities were filled with masses of the six distinct species living and working in close proximity to one another.
Four hours of constant hails had gone unanswered. Voyager and Galen were now in orbit around the third planet and were being roundly ignored by the dozens of cubes traveling throughout the system. Captain Eden had substituted the standard friendship greetings for a more detailed description of their encounter with the alien cube, an apology for the cube’s destruction, and an offer of establishing friendly relations with the system’s inhabitants. Voyager’s sensors detected the presence of communications relays aboard the cubes and in their shipyards. However, there were no advanced communications systems. Patel suggested that the varied species might facilitate their communication through nontechnological means. Telepathy was likely. However, most species that possessed highly developed telepathic and empathic abilities also had comm systems.
When Voyager’s second message was met with the same resounding silence, Captain Eden authorized Paris to lead an away team there. He immediately assigned Kim to provide security, and chose Lieutenant Patel, Doctor Sharak, and Seven to join him. Captain Eden added Counselor Cambridge to the team.
Paris transported to what appeared to be a large agricultural processing plant several kilometers from one of the smaller cities. The first sight that met the away team’s eyes were acres of lush, verdant fields planted in perfect lines. Small clusters of the aliens were tending the crops. Patel reported that the leafy, green sprouts were a nonedible product most likely for use as a fuel source.
“Where are the fences?” Kim asked.
“Let’s ask, shall we?” Paris said, gesturing to a group in the nearest field that were scanning the crops using a small, handheld device. The team observed them in silence, one a Neyser, a little more than two meters, the other, a humanoid under a meter. They worked quietly, diligently intent upon their task. Concerned for the team’s safety, Paris ordered Patel and Seven to scan the creatures covertly.
The Neyser wore a simple brown tunic over a flowing green skirt. It had short, sandy-brown hair and its skin was either deeply tanned or a natural bronze. Its appearance did not immediately suggest its gender.
The smaller humanoid looked like an offspring of its counterpart. Patel stepped up to Paris, informing him that they were actually two distinct alien life-forms: one a silicon-based Dulaph, and the other a bio-mimetic Irsk, who coated the surface of the Dulaph and gave it its humanoid shape. Paris wondered if this might account for the faint silver sheen of the alien’s skin that glinted in the sun.
A faint haze surrounded the body of the Neyser and flitting around within the haze was a tiny, winged creature. Patel identified the haze as the noncorporeal life-form indigenous to the system’s tenth planet. The winged creature’s DNA confirmed it was native to the third planet, as Patel had suspected.
The Neyser’s right arm was covered by what looked like a long insect, which was actually a Greech. Its body was divided into sections with its head resting on the back of the humanoid’s hand. Two long antennae sprung from its head, just above two large, orange eyes. Its body got smaller as it curved up its host’s arm with the long tail wrapped around the back of the Neyser’s waist.
A loud, discordant shriek broke the serenity of the field once Paris and the away team got within ten meters of the aliens. Kim’s hand went to his weapon, but Tom held out a firm hand, ordering Kim to stand down. Paris signaled the others to stay put as he stepped closer to the aliens.
“Good afternoon,” Paris said cheerfully. “I am Lieutenant Commander Tom Paris, of the Federation Starship Voyager . I’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.” He got no visible response.
Paris took two more steps toward the group but was brought up short as the Irsk/Dulaph’s arm suddenly extended to more than two meters in length as it delicately plucked an insect from a leaf. The arm retreated to its normal size as quickly as it had morphed and the insect was deposited into the alien’s mouth and chewed vigorously.
Maybe we’re disturbing lunch, Paris thought.
He then repeated his greeting but the aliens continued to ignore him. Reluctantly, he retreated back to the away team’s position.
“Maybe they don’t understand us,” he said, scratching his head.
“It’s possible,” Kim conceded.
“But unlikely,” Seven added.
“Why do you say that?” Cambridge asked.
“They show no curiosity about us whatsoever,” Seven replied. “If they did not understand us, but were interested in communicating with us, they would most likely at least look at us.”
“They’re ignoring us completely,” Patel finished.
“Like the Borg used to do,” Kim observed.
“There’s a less than charming thought,” Cambridge said softly.
“Which one made the screaming sound we just heard?” Sharak asked.
“The Greech,” Seven replied.
“How onomatopoetic,”
Cambridge noted. When Sharak tossed him a curious glance, Cambridge explained, “The sound they make … it sounds like the name.”
“Oh,” Sharak said, smiling sincerely.
“They appear to function collectively,” Paris said.
“Without further observation, it is unwise to leap to that conclusion,” Seven replied.
“They don’t seem frightened of us in the least,” Cambridge added.
“Why is that a problem?” Patel asked.
“Because they should be,” Kim replied. “We outnumber them, and we’re armed. Their lack of curiosity, going about what looks like their normal routine, despite our presence suggests that whatever their defenses are, they are formidable.”
“Or this particular group is expendable,” Sharak suggested.
Paris said, “Let’s move on to that larger facility half a klick to the north of our position.” In the distance a large perfectly square building could be seen at the edge of the field. Tricorders indicated that seventy-two life-forms were present within.
Paris began to sweat uncomfortably as the away team walked through the field, careful not to disturb any of the well-tended crops. His step lightened once they reached the cool enclosed space.
A large depository of harvested crops was moving through a processing machine. At each of a dozen stations, a collective—identical to the first group they had encountered—worked silently, methodically, and harmoniously.
“Did you say that the Borg assimilated four of these species?” Cambridge asked Seven quietly.
“I did not,” Seven replied evenly. “The Neyser, Greech, Dulaph, and Irsk were discovered and categorized by the Borg but were considered unworthy of assimilation.”
Shaking her head, Patel said tersely, “It’s hard to imagine more industrious folks. If you ask me, it was the Collective’s loss.”
B’Elanna found Chakotay in the mess hall, chatting amiably with a petite ensign with short, spiked blue hair. Tom had told her about the pilot, but the woman’s name escaped B’Elanna at the moment. She quickly replicated a bowl of plomeek soup and crossed the busy room to join them.
Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy Page 14
