by Greg Cox
A SUDDEN CRASH CAUGHT LIEUTENANT TOM PARIS BY SURPRISE . . .
He spun around to see B’Elanna Torres lifting a large, curly-haired alien off the dance floor. “Son of a targ!” Torres roared, and hurled the man physically into the air. He came flying at the dance floor, a cry of alarm escaping his wide open mouth. Paris ducked at the last minute, and the B’Elanna-propelled alien slammed into another.
They crashed to the floor, landing in a tangle of limbs that threatened the vertical stability of every couple dancing nearby. The alien’s angry curses mixed with the other man’s groans, spoiling the romantic mood music.
Captain Janeway wouldn’t be happy about this turn of events, Paris decided. Perhaps it was time for the Voyager crew members to excuse themselves from the party.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Mosaic Excerpt
For Alex,
who wanted to play kitty games instead
CHAPTER
1
Captain’s log, stardate 491750.0
We are continuing our travels through what appears to be an unusually barren and desolate sector of the Delta Quadrant. Little has interrupted Voyager’s daily routines for several weeks now—a mixed blessing, to be sure. With no new dangers or discoveries to command my attention, I find my thoughts drifting increasingly toward Earth, and the people and lives that we have left behind. The Federation seems especially far away, and I suspect that I am not the only person aboard this ship that feels that way. . . .
“C’MON, DOC! I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.”
First Officer Chakotay heard Harry Kim’s heated complaint the moment he entered the sickbay. He was struck by the note of genuine irritation in Kim’s voice; the young ensign had always impressed Chakotay as being relatively even-tempered. I wonder what’s got under his skin, he thought.
The doors slid shut silently behind him. The air in the sickbay had a medicinal odor that Chakotay associated with disinfectants and sterilization fields. He saw Kim struggling to rise from the medical biobed on which he was none too happily lying. His upper body was propped up on both elbows, and his legs were swinging toward the edge of the bed. The Doctor placed a restraining hand against Kim’s chest. “Yes, I’m sure you must have an urgent appointment to play pool in that seedy holographic bar—or something equally compelling.” Although holographic himself, The Doctor’s hand was evidently solid enough to keep the impatient ensign on the bed. “Regular checkups are an essential part of a proper health regimen for most humanoid species. As the sole medical officer on this improvised expedition through parts unknown, it is my thankless task to ensure that every member of this luckless crew gets all the preventive care they require, whether they appreciate it or not.” The Doctor sighed theatrically. “Now, would you please lie back so I can finish recording your vitals?”
Chakotay glanced at the monitor above the biobed. Kim’s readings looked normal enough, although his blood pressure seemed slightly elevated. Kes stood a few centimeters behind The Doctor, holding a medical tricorder. The Ocampa acknowledged Chakotay’s arrival with a nod and a friendly smile. Intent on his reluctant patient, The Doctor seemed oblivious to the first officer’s presence.
“Okay, okay,” Kim said, lowering his head onto the cushioned surface of the bed. “Let’s just get this over with. I haven’t got all day.”
“You’re seventy-five years away from civilization as we know it,” The Doctor observed. “How much of a rush can you be in?”
Kim glared at The Doctor with anger in his eyes; The Doctor’s tart remark had apparently struck a nerve. “That’s it!” he said, sitting up abruptly. “I may be stuck out here, light-years from anywhere, but I have better things to do than listen to a holographic lecture on health care.” His boots smacked against the floor as he hopped off the bed, ignoring The Doctor’s protests. Chakotay was surprised by the intensity of Kim’s reaction; over the last few years, the crew had largely overcome the homesickness that had afflicted them at the beginning of their sojourn in the Delta Quadrant. What could have happened to provoke such a response from Kim now?
“Now wait just one second,” The Doctor said indignantly. He laid a hand upon the ensign’s shoulder. “This examination is over when I say it is.”
“Please, Harry,” Kes added. “This will just take a moment or two.” Her tone was softer and more conciliatory than The Doctor’s.
Kim disregarded the young woman’s attempt at peacemaking. “No, you wait,” he told The Doctor. “Computer, deactivate emergency medical program. Command priority gamma.”
The Doctor’s jaw dropped and a look of surprise came over his face a heartbeat before he blinked out of existence. “What do you—”
Kes appeared both stunned and disappointed by Kim’s preemptory dismissal of The Doctor. “Harry, how could you?” she asked. She glanced upward at the ceiling as she addressed the ship itself. “Computer, restore medical program immediately.”
“—think you are doing?” The Doctor rematerialized between Kes and Kim, his hand still holding on to the ensign’s right shoulder, his voice picking up exactly where he had been cut off only seconds before. A puzzled expression crossed his features. His eyes looked slightly more unfocused than usual. “Excuse me, was I gone for an instant there?”
“Not for long enough,” Kim said. He shoved The Doctor’s hand away and started to shoulder his way past Kes and The Doctor. “I’m out of here.”
Chakotay decided he had seen enough. “Ensign!” he barked. Kim suddenly became aware of the first officer’s presence. He snapped to attention, a look of embarrassment melting the angry set of his expression. Kes and The Doctor stepped aside to let Chakotay approach Kim. Body stiff, Kim stared past Chakotay, unable to meet the first officer’s gaze. Chakotay let him stew for a couple of seconds before speaking again.
“The Doctor’s bedside manner may leave something to be desired,” Chakotay stated. He heard The Doctor make a harrumphing sound behind him. “But that’s no excuse for insubordination and incivility, nor for abusing your command priority privileges.”
“I apologize, sir,” Kim said, still looking straight ahead. Chakotay guessed that the ensign would sooner face an entire Kazon warrior sect than prolong this encounter one more minute. “I’m afraid I just, well, lost my temper.”
“That’s not enough of an explanation,” Chakotay said. “I know you, Harry; you’re not usually a hothead. What’s this all about?”
Kim blushed, his face turning almost as red as Chakotay’s crimson Starfleet uniform. He lowered his voice, perhaps hoping that neither The Doctor nor Kes would hear his sheepish confession. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that, I guess, today is my birthday and I’m used to spending it with my family, not going through an annual checkup somewhere in the Delta Quadrant.” His eyes finally met Chakotay’s. His voice remained admirably even, despite his humiliation. “That’s no excuse, I know, but it probably has something to do with my—reaction—a few moments ago.”
<
br /> “I see,” Chakotay said. Kim’s emotional display made a little more sense now; despite the crew’s improved attitude, it stood to reason that birthdays and anniversaries and such would inevitably remind crew members of the loved ones they’d left behind. “Very well. For today, you are excused from completing this exam, but I expect you to reschedule a new appointment with The Doctor sometime in the next seventy-two hours. And no more taking out your bad moods on your fellow officers and crew members. Do you understand me, Ensign?”
“Yes, sir,” Kim said, visibly struggling to conceal his relief. What did he expect, Chakotay wondered, that I’d have him confined to quarters for blowing off a little steam? “Thank you, Commander.”
“At ease, Ensign. You may go now.” Kim murmured a few more apologies in the direction of The Doctor and his assistant, then hurried for the door as quickly as decorum allowed. “And, Harry,” Chakotay called out as Kim stepped out the door, “have a happy birthday.”
The sickbay doors slid shut, but not before Chakotay spotted a grin on the ensign’s face. Turning away from the exit, Chakotay faced Kes and The Doctor. “I thought you handled that very well,” Kes commented. “I’m sure Harry didn’t mean to cause a disturbance.”
“Easy for you to say,” The Doctor groused. “You’re not the one who was switched off like a light bulb.” He reached over and deactivated the sensor screen above the now-vacant biobed. Chakotay wondered if it reassured The Doctor to be able to turn off his own equipment at will, asserting his position on Voyager’s technological pecking order, or if it only reminded him of the transitory nature of his own artificially maintained existence? “Now then, Commander, what can I do for you?”
Chakotay contemplated the events of the last few minutes. “Actually,” he said, “it may have everything to do with what I just witnessed.”
• • •
“A morale problem?” Captain Kathryn Janeway asked.
“Exactly,” Chakotay said. They were having a private conference in the captain’s ready room, located off the bridge. A porcelain mug full of steaming coffee sat on Janeway’s desk in front of her. Due to energy restrictions on the ship’s replicators, she rationed herself one fresh coffee every other morning. Janeway took a sip of the hot java, savoring the bracing bitterness of its taste, while Chakotay described a recent episode in the sickbay. Her first officer sat opposite her in a sturdy duranium chair. According to Voyager’s daily schedule, it was still morning. Janeway treated herself to another swallow of the precious coffee, anticipating a much-needed kick from the caffeine.
“Harry Kim, you say?” she echoed Chakotay. “That is disturbing. Without casting too many aspersions on others in the crew, I wouldn’t find it quite so remarkable to hear that B’Elanna or Neelix or even Tom Paris had thrown a tantrum. But Harry? That’s not like him at all.”
Chakotay nodded gravely. “The incident with Ensign Kim is just a symptom of a larger problem. The Doctor confirmed my own observations. Most of the crew are showing signs of stress and fatigue. Nerves are frayed. Tempers are short. Just the other day, I had to stop B’Elanna from force-feeding Neelix some particularly unappetizing Talaxian delicacy.”
“How odd,” Janeway stated. “I was under the impression that the crew’s attitude had improved since we left Kazon space.” And none too soon, she thought. Certainly, her own sense of adventure had grown since they left the Kazon and their dire intrigues behind. It troubled her that her first officer thought the crew’s morale was slipping again.
“In general, the mood had lightened until recently,” Chakotay explained, “but now we’re flying through what appears to be the Delta Quadrant equivalent to Death Valley. Adventure and exploration are great antidotes for homesickness, but day after day spent traversing dead, lifeless space would get anybody down.”
“I see,” Janeway said. She had to admit she’d been feeling a bit bored herself lately. “So what do you suggest we do about this outbreak of sour spirits?”
“My own diagnosis,” Chakotay said, “is that a bad case of cabin fever is spreading through Voyager. There’s not much we can do about the root causes of any homesickness, but I strongly recommend shore leave for the crew as soon as a suitable site is found.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Janeway said. “As you say, the crew’s been stuck aboard the ship for weeks now, without any break.” A circular porthole behind her head offered a view of the surrounding space. Janeway glanced out the window at the stars streaking by. “Unfortunately, we don’t seem to be near any prime vacation spots at present.”
“True enough,” Chakotay began. “Still—” The commbadges on their uniforms beeped in unison, interrupting the first officer’s comment. Janeway tapped her badge in response while Chakotay listened in.
“Captain here,” she said. “What is it?”
Harry Kim’s voice emerged from her badge. “Ensign Kim. I think you and Commander Chakotay should come to the bridge. We’ve detected a transmission coming from a nearby solar system.”
A transmission? Janeway experienced the same thrill she always felt at the prospect of encountering a new civilization and life-form. This is what Starfleet is all about, she thought, even when we’re in the Delta Quadrant. “Understood, Mr. Kim. We’re on our way.”
Chakotay was already rising from his chair. He waited by the closed door for her to join him, then they entered the bridge together.
An almost palpable aura of excitement suffused the bridge, emanating from the eager expressions and alert body language of the officers on duty. Lieutenant Tom Paris had the conn, while Harry Kim was stationed at Ops. Both men looked more upbeat and alive than they had in weeks. Ensign Susan Tukwila, a promising young officer recently transferred from stellar cartography to the bridge, manned the port forward science console; like Chakotay, Tukwila was a Native American who had served among the Maquis renegades before ending up on Voyager. Tukwila appeared just as energized as Paris and Kim by the discovery of the alien transmission. Only Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, stationed at the security/tactical console at aft starboard, seemed immune to the urgency and impatience on display throughout the bridge; his face maintained its customary expression of Vulcan detachment.
Taking her seat in the command area, Janeway glanced toward the starboard engineering station. She did not see B’Elanna Torres at her usual post. Janeway assumed that Torres was hard at work down in the main engineering core. Chakotay sat down beside Janeway, a few meters to her left. “Very well,” the captain said. “Let’s hear this transmission.”
“We have visual as well as audio, Captain,” Kim informed her.
“Even better,” Janeway said. “Put it on the Main Viewer, Mr. Kim.”
The large viewscreen at the front of the bridge lit up. Janeway expected to see the person or persons responsible for the transmission. Instead the screen offered a panoramic look at an alien landscape. “Oh my,” Janeway said, caught off guard by the breathtaking beauty of the view.
It was a beach scene, actually, but like none that she had ever seen before. The peaceful shore bore little resemblance to, say, the surging swells that crashed against the rocky coastline beneath Burleigh Manor in her favorite holo-novel. Instead sparkling golden water rippled beneath a red-hued sky. Saffron foam crested the gentle waves that broke upon an ebony shore, while small puffy clouds drifted slowly through the air, doing little to obscure the warm crimson sunlight that illuminated the entire scene. The beach itself seemed composed of millions of glossy black pebbles the size of small beads. Every pebble shined like polished obsidian, worn smooth by the ceaseless caress of the waves, so that the shore glittered with countless dark mirrors. Janeway imagined walking her long-lost dog upon the beach, then chided herself for daydreaming on duty. She searched in vain for footprints or any other sign of habitation; the beach looked pristine, untouched.
Rosy sunshine glinted off the gleaming pebbles, but here and there looming trees provided shade from the sun. Deep purple fronds, str
eaked with veins of pink, sprouted from the top of each tree, casting shifting shadows upon the beach as the trees swayed leisurely in response to an unseen breeze. Their slender trunks were covered by coppery metallic bark. Smaller vegetation grew abundantly along the rim of the beach; a hundred different shades of green, they resembled sea anemones and living coral, as though underwater plant life had taken root on dry land. Delicate purple tendrils danced in the breeze, adding a touch of alien beauty to the idyllic tableau. “It’s lovely,” Ensign Tukwila said out loud. “Just gorgeous.” Janeway had to agree.
At first, she could hear only the waves lapping at the shore and the soft rustling of the fronds in the wind. Then a disembodied voice accompanied the postcard-pretty scenery. The Universal Translator gave the unseen speaker a deep masculine voice with a distinct but unfamiliar accent.
“Behold Ryolanov,” came the voice, “whomever you are. We welcome the opportunity to meet you and your people. Please consider yourself wholeheartedly invited to share the beauty and hospitality of our world for as long as you care to visit. Come to Ryolanov. We await you with open arms.”
The voice fell silent, leaving only the natural splendor of the alien beach to speak for the source of the transmission. Janeway tore her gaze away from the ever-so-inviting view and glanced back over her left shoulder at Harry Kim. “Is that it?” she asked.
“Yes, Captain,” Kim answered. “The invitation simply repeats itself at regular intervals, about every five minutes.”
“How long has it been running?” Chakotay asked Kim.
“Uncertain.” Kim said. “We detected the transmission as soon as we came within range. For all we can tell, it’s been broadcast continuously for years.”
“Is there anyway to respond?” Janeway inquired. She was anxious to establish a dialogue with the mysterious inhabitants of—what was that name again? She retrieved the unfamiliar word from her memory. Ryolanov, she repeated silently. The name had a pleasingly exotic sound.
