by Greg Cox
They must have done something to Tom, she thought, hoping that Paris had managed to survive the experience.
Phaser in hand, Tuvok ran ahead of her, intent on defending his captain from any opposition they might encounter, with Kim taking up the rear. “Do you think The Doctor will be okay?” he called out to her as he ran.
“The Doctor can take care of himself,” Janeway replied. “He’s proven that more times than I can remember.” Indeed, she thought, The Doctor may have the least to fear of any of them; she’d be surprised if the strange psychic attacks of the Ryol proved to be effective on a hologram.
They reached the access port to a series of vertical Jeffries tubes. “Perfect,” Janeway declared. Engineering was on Deck Eleven, six decks below the sickbay and a full ten decks away from the bridge. The tubes seemed the quickest way down to where she had to go. First things first, she prioritized, forming her strategy on the run. Eventually, she had to regain control of the bridge, and rescue Chakotay and whoever else was being held hostage there, but first she had to keep the Ryol from flying away with Voyager. Engineering was the obvious place to throw a wrench into the invader’s ambitions; it was too bad that B’Elanna wouldn’t be there to help out. Janeway prayed that Torres and Kes and all the others currently held captive on the planet were still safe.
Everything was happening too fast. When the ship’s transporters retrieved Kes and the others’ commbadges, they had also cut off her dialogue with Varathael. The next thing she knew, Chakotay was hailing her to warn her that some Ryol had seized control of the bridge. Tuvok had immediately attempted automated counter-measures against the intruders, but someone had effectively sealed off the bridge from the rest of the ship, setting up defensive forcefields to prevent them from beaming anyone in or out of the bridge. How, she wondered, had the Ryol learned so much about Voyager’s defenses? That hadn’t been part of any cultural exchange she’d authorized!
For all she knew, she had barely left the sickbay in time to avoid the Ryol invaders sent to capture her. Tuvok had insisted she take herself out of danger immediately, and despite some initial reluctance, she had been forced to agree. It galled her to order a strategic retreat on her own ship, but the three of them weren’t ready to confront the invaders just yet. Be careful, she warned herself. We don’t know enough about what these people are capable of.
“This way, Captain,” Tuvok said, opening the hatch to the Jeffries tube. As always, she admired his Vulcan composure in the middle of a crisis. “Please be careful of your step.”
“After you,” she said. Climbing into the tube, and leaving the access door behind her open for Kim, Janeway grabbed on to the top rung of the service ladder and swung her feet onto the lowest rung she could find. Tuvok’s boots struck methodically against the rungs below her feet. She began to descend rapidly through the narrow tube, simultaneously activating her commbadge and requesting an emergency override channel.
“Attention. This is the captain speaking,” she said, her words echoing throughout the entire ship. “This is a level-two alert. The bridge has been temporarily captured by the Ryol. Do not attempt to confront the intruders. They are extremely dangerous. All non-security personnel should take shelter within their quarters until this crisis is resolved. All security personnel, report to Engineering at once. I’m on my way. Janeway out.”
Hand over hand, rung by rung, level by level, she climbed down the breadth of the ship. Her anger at the Ryol grew hotter the more she thought about how their so-called hosts had deceived them. At least the Kazon were honest in their hostility, she thought. The Ryol took advantage of our trust and vulnerability. Prime Directive or no Prime Directive, she vowed, the Ryol were going to regret threatening her ship and her crew.
“So much for shore leave,” she quipped. “Some vacation this is turning out to be . . .”
• • •
“Well, this is quite a mess,” The Doctor observed, inspecting the palm-sized hole the female Ryol’s phaser had burned through the wall separating his medical laboratory from the patient recovery area. He shook his head morosely. “Gunplay in the sickbay. Whatever is this quadrant coming to?”
The pair of Ryol still lay insensate upon the floor in front of him. The Doctor kept the phaser aimed in their general direction as he activated his commbadge. “Captain,” he paged. “This is The Doctor. I heard your announcement. Are you quite all right?”
Captain Janeway’s voice came over the commbadge, reassuring The Doctor. “We’re almost to Engineering,” she reported. Her voice sounded hurried and slightly out of breath. “What’s happening in the sickbay?”
The Doctor informed her of the confrontation in the sickbay and its consequences, taking only a few extra seconds to emphasize his own heroic accomplishment in overcoming two deadly opponents. I’m becoming quite the two-fisted warrior, he thought, feeling more than a little pleased with himself. The male Ryol began to stir, raising his head blearily from the floor, and The Doctor casually zapped him with a short phaser burst. The Ryol’s golden-maned head dropped cooperatively back onto the floor tiles. “Two prisoners, both under control,” The Doctor told Janeway. “Shall I call for Security to pick them up?”
The captain paused a second before responding. “Not yet,” she said. “I want you to subject the Ryol to a full metabolic analysis. The more we know about our new adversaries, the better chance there is of uncovering their weaknesses. Can you handle this by yourself?”
The Doctor inspected the unconscious Ryol. He wasn’t looking forward to wrestling two inert bodies onto his biobeds, but he supposed he could manage. “That should be no problem, Captain,” he stated. “I can instruct the biobeds to monitor the prisoners’ brain activity and administer sedatives if they show any sign of regaining consciousness.”
I can also lock the surgical support frames in place above both Ryol, he decided. Ordinarily, he preferred not to place his patients in restraints, but this time he was willing to make an exception. So far, he thought, the Ryol have made a very bad first impression on me. I wonder why the rest of the crew seemed to find them so appealing?
“Very good,” the captain said. “Notify me if you learn anything significant about the Ryol.”
“Of course,” he said. “I still don’t understand how the male was able to resist the effects of the narcotrizarine for so long. I gave him more than enough to render the average humanoid unconscious in a matter of nano-seconds.”
“I believe we’ve established,” Captain Janeway replied dryly, “that the Ryol are far from average. Anything else?” Through the commbadge, The Doctor heard the sound of an access hatch clanging open.
The Doctor started to sign off, then hesitated. “Captain, what about Kes . . . and the others down on the planet?” he asked.
He did not want to admit how worried he was about her. She was more than his assistant; she was the first person who had ever treated him like a true living entity. Come back, Kes, he thought. This will be a lonelier ship without you. “I’m afraid I’m feeling somewhat short-handed.”
“I won’t abandon them,” the captain said, steely determination in her voice. “I promise you that. Janeway out.”
The captain’s voice vanished, leaving The Doctor alone in the sickbay with the two oblivious Ryol. He retrieved the female’s phaser from where it had fallen, then placed it on a counter next to Ensign Kim’s clarinet. Sighing wearily, he bent over the male and, wrapping his arms around the man’s torso, struggled to lift the Ryol off the floor. He was even heavier than he looked.
“You’d think,” The Doctor muttered as he laboriously wrestled the limp and unresponsive Ryol onto an empty biobed, “that Starfleet could spring for a holographic orderly or two!”
• • •
“Tell me, Tom,” Laazia said, seeming quite at home in the captain’s chair. “How long before we land on Ryolanov?”
“Not much longer,” he fudged, glancing up at the screen in front of him. The planet, a golden globe mottled by masses of purp
le and black, occupied the center of the main viewer. Paris quietly rerouted the controls for the long-range sensors through the conn station. The shimmering globe expanded before his eyes, appearing to draw ever nearer. Looks good to me, he thought but will it fool the others?
His mind was his again. The shock of Susan’s death, as well as Laazia’s brutal treatment of Chakotay, had acted like a phaser blast through his brain, burning away the mist and cobwebs that Laazia had wrapped around his consciousness. He could think again. She must have underestimated, he thought, the impact on me of what she did to Susan. Shows you how little they really understand us, and how little they must care for each other.
But now what could he do, aside from letting Laazia and the other Ryol know that he was free of their control? He furtively scanned the bridge, swiftly assessing the situation. He fought an urge to shake his head at the sheer bizarreness of his dilemma. How in the world did I end up undercover, he asked himself, at a hostile takeover of the ship?
Tension filled the bridge. While Laazia lounged upon her stolen throne, her confederates stood guard over Chakotay and other crew members. The male Ryol whom Susan Tukwila had knocked out earlier had since recovered; a swollen bump upon his forehead, not to mention a broken lip, testified to the force of Tukwila’s assault. Paris avoided looking at the aft operations station, where Susan’s shriveled corpse had been callously swept into a corner. In the end, he reflected, her bravery and considerable fighting skills had not been enough to save her. It happened so fast, he grieved. I couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t enough time! He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t really his fault, that he had been the helpless victim of some insidious alien mind control, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Not far away from Tukwila’s body, Chakotay sat helplessly upon the floor, his arms tied behind his back with a strip of adhesive cloth that one of the Ryol had extracted from his robes. Even though they had already drained his energy once, the Ryol weren’t taking any chances with Chakotay. Paris could feel the first officer’s eyes staring into his back, accusing him, judging him. Give me a chance, Paris thought silently. It’s not what you think.
Two junior officers, Ensigns Krevorr and Assink, remained seated at the engineering and science stations, respectively. Ryol guards loomed above them, confident in the ability of their inexplicable powers to keep the hostages in line. Let’s see, Paris thought. Counting Chakotay, that makes five of them and four of us. Not very good odds. . . . He would have traded a year’s worth of replicator rations to have B’Elanna or Harry back on the bridge, not to mention Tuvok and the captain.
“Hurry, Tom,” Laazia urged him. “I cannot wait to deliver this fine vessel to my father. I’ve been thinking about a change of career, too. How does Captain Laazia sound to you?”
Paris maintained an expression of intense concentration on his task. “Atmospheric landings can be tricky,” he explained, “especially when you’ve got to deal with these sort of wonky orbital dynamics. The reverse polarized turbulence of the quantum gravity field can really foul up the approach vector of the aerodynamic principle.”
Seated several meters away, Ensign Krevorr gave Paris a puzzled look. Her golden eyes, catlike like all Ktarans, revealed confusion.
Sssh, Paris hushed her, aiming his thoughts at the Ktaran crew member. Don’t say anything. I’m on a roll here. He fought the temptation to look back at Chakotay, to see if the first officer finally understood what he was up to. Part of him desperately wanted to erase the scorn from Chakotay’s features, but not if it meant making Laazia and her friends suspicious. Was she buying all this gibberish? He couldn’t tell.
Laazia’s smooth brow furrowed as she tried to decipher Paris’s jargon-filled explanation. I wonder if it’s giving the Universal Translator a hard time, he wondered, then felt the excitement of a new idea popping into his head. They’re depending on the Universal Translator as much as we are, he realized. Something to remember perhaps. . . .
Laazia sighed and shrugged her shoulders, apparently defeated by the blizzard of buzzwords. “As you say,” she said after a few seconds’ consideration. “Land us as swiftly as you deem it wise. The Elder knows,” she said, directing her words to her fellow Ryol, “we don’t want to crash our only spacecraft again.”
Again? Paris had no idea what she was talking about, except that it sounded like the Ryol had once attempted spaceflight. Was there any way to use that info against the Ryol? So far, they didn’t seem to have any weak spots. He hoped that Tuvok’s precious DNA sample turned up something useful. I can only stall so long, he thought, praying that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. A thin layer of sweat glued the back of his uniform to his skin.
A booming voice startled him out of his reverie. “Attention,” came the voice, as if from on high, “this is the captain speaking—”
Paris suppressed a grin. Captain Janeway wasn’t out of the game yet! Behind him, Laazia bolted out of her chair. She stood transfixed, listening intently to the captain’s announcement, then hissed in fury. Yellow alert warnings began flashing upon the bridge. “She’s still free? I don’t believe it! How can this be?”
“Nalec and Sitruua must have failed,” the Ryol with the bump on his head volunteered. Blood from his cracked lip stained his chin. Such injuries, Paris decided, may have given this Ryol a better appreciation of the Voyager’s readiness to fight. “Perhaps the strangers have destroyed them?”
“How?!” Laazia exclaimed, her green eyes filled with malice. Her hands hung at her sides, clutching convulsively at the empty air. “They’re neffaler. We can devour them at will.”
“I do not know, Heir,” the other Ryol said. Laazia gave him a venomous look; apparently, Paris mused, the Ryol were not above blaming the messenger for bad news. The Elder’s daughter sank back into the captain’s seat, stroking her chin with her long brown fingernails.
“Engineering,” she repeated, thinking aloud. “She means to sabotage the ship. I cannot allow that.” Laazia sprang into action, commanding her followers with an imperious wave of her hand. “The rest of you, go to Engineering. Do whatever you have to, but bring me Janeway. Alive or eaten, I do not care, but bring her to me now!”
The remaining four Ryol moved at once toward the door to the turbolift. One of the Ryol, a slender woman whom Paris believed was named Romeela, paused before the exit and, holding a phaser aloft, addressed Laazia. “Heir, is this wise? Perhaps a few of us should remain to defend you?” She offered the Elder’s daughter her phaser.
“From these?” Laazia laughed derisively. Her gaze swept over the bridge, alighting briefly on Chakotay, battered and bound, before moving on to Paris and the others. “The day I cannot handle these weak creatures is the day my father will need a new Heir.” She accepted the proffered phaser, then tossed it casually into the empty seat where Chakotay usually sat. “Go,” she ordered the other Ryol. “Get Janeway.”
Paris heard the turbolift doors swish shut as the Ryol departed the bridge. Well, he thought, this is certainly an interesting development. Four gone, one to go. He ran through a dozen plans in his mind, rejecting them all. I’m only going to get one chance, he thought. I have to do this right.
But Laazia was thinking as well. “You,” she addressed Ensign Krevorr. “Use your transport device to bring more Ryol to the bridge. Beam me up reinforcements from the planet.” She kept her eyes fixed on Krevorr’s console. “Be careful, the first sign of treachery and your withered bones will join the dead carcass behind me.”
Uh-oh, Paris thought. Here it comes. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” he said, anxious to attract Laazia’s attention away from the defenseless Ktaran. He didn’t want to force Krevorr to say no to Laazia. Susan Tukwila’s grisly death still haunted him; one casualty on the bridge was more than enough.
“Why not?” Laazia demanded, glaring at him. Her seductive manner was quickly evaporating as her hijacking plan started to fall apart. Losing control of the situation? Paris asked her sil
ently. Good.
“Because, well, er—” He mentally composed another mouthful of meaningless technobabble, then discarded it. His instincts told him that Laazia wasn’t going to fall for that trick again. “Well, for one thing, we’re way out of transporter range.”
He pressed a lighted icon on his control panel. The magnified image from the long-range sensors disappeared from the main viewer, replaced by a more accurate representation of Ryolanov as a tiny gold dot against a backdrop of stars. “What?!” Laazia shouted angrily as the truth hit home. “We’re going the wrong way!”
The jig is up, Paris thought. Time to go for broke. Pushing the limits of the inertial dampers, he executed a sharp starboard turn that sent everyone on the bridge—except for Paris, who hung on tightly to the conn—flying from their seats. Looking back over his shoulder, he watched Laazia tumble from her chair onto the floor. He also saw Chakotay roll helplessly onto his side, smacking his temple against the nearby operations console. Sorry about that, Paris thought. Couldn’t be helped. He stabilized Voyager’s flight path, then leaped from his seat, diving after Laazia, who was sprawled facedown upon the command platform, her indigo cloak draped over her like a rug or blanket. He slammed into her back and rammed her head into the floor with both hands. His fingers dug into the downy fleece covering her skull as he struggled to keep her deadly eyes pointing at the floor. “Don’t look at me!” he shouted. “Don’t even move!”
This time her unusual strength did not catch him by surprise. He put all his weight and energy into holding the Elder’s daughter down. This was his only chance to recapture the bridge for the captain, and he wasn’t going to waste it. For a second, he even thought he had Laazia pinned for good.
Then the body beneath him began to change. . . .
• • •
Lieutenant Carey had just brought the warp engines off-line when the ship lurched abruptly to the starboard side. Captain Janeway had to grab on to a support pylon to keep from falling. “What in blazes?” she called out to Carey, who was steadying himself against the master systems display console. “Did we do that?”
