The Black Shore

by Greg Cox

  “No, sir,” Carey informed her. The floor appeared to have leveled off for the time being. He stepped away from the console experimentally, looking relieved when he wasn’t thrown off-kilter. He scratched his head through his curly red hair. “Voyager has been cruising at impulse since before you arrived. Killing the warp drive shouldn’t have had any effect on the ship’s trajectory.”

  “Understood,” Janeway said. She let go of the pylon and looked around for any damage the sudden turn might have caused. All she saw was several uniformed security officers scrambling onto their feet. Harry Kim assisted one of the officers to her feet while Tuvok kept a vigilant gaze upon the nearest entrance. Main Engineering looked to be more or less intact, although packed to overflowing with armed and anxious-looking personnel. “Who the devil is flying this ship, then?” she asked out loud, then guessed the answer. “Paris,” she said, with a grim smile. Whatever Tom’s up to, I hoped it worked.

  She returned her attention to Lieutenant Carey and the master controls. “Disable the impulse drive next,” she instructed him. “I don’t want this ship going anywhere until it’s back under my control. Are you sure they won’t be able to restore power to the engines from the bridge?”

  Carey shook his head. “Not even Lieutenant Torres would be able to reroute the controls after the way we’ve bollixed them. Give me a few more minutes, and Voyager will be dead in the water.”

  I don’t like the sound of that, she thought, even under the best of circumstances. There was no alternative, though. She couldn’t let the Ryol take the ship wherever they pleased, and she wasn’t ready to storm the bridge just yet. Too many hostages, she had concluded, and too much unknown about the full capabilities of the Ryol. There was no point in confronting the Ryol until they had found a way to neutralize the hijackers’ lethal ability to sap the energy from their foes. B’Elanna and the others had apparently learned that the hard way.

  “Tuvok,” she addressed her security head, “is there anyway the Ryol can send reinforcements to their boarding party?”

  “I do not believe so,” he stated. “According to the latest navigational readings, we are beyond the range of conventional transporters, nor was there any indication that the Ryol possessed working spacecraft. We must assume that the Ryol intend to land Voyager on Ryolanov once their conquest of the ship is complete.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Janeway said. The ship had already been captured once before, by Seska and her Kazon enemies, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again, not if she had anything to say about it. “They’re not going anywhere near Ryolanov while we’re in control of the engines.”

  She wished she knew what was happening on the planet’s surface. She still remembered the cruel, arrogant sound of Varathael’s voice instants before the transporter plucked B’Elanna’s commbadge from his fingers. How could I have misjudged him so badly, she thought, unless I needed some shore leave as much as everyone else? So much conflict and warfare; it had seemed like almost every week they had ended up fighting for their lives against some hostile denizen of the Delta Quadrant. She had longed for the relative peace and harmony of the Federation more than she had realized, perhaps, and so had been too quick to accept the Ryol as the civilized kindred spirits they had pretended to be.

  But there was no time to indulge in guilt or self-pity. Now that they had disabled the warp and impulse engines, she knew, it was only a matter of time before Laazia sent her gang to restore power to the engines. “All right,” she said loud enough for everyone in Engineering to hear. “We know they’re coming, so let’s be ready for them. Assume defensive positions.”

  Phasers in hand, the security teams spread out through the entire engineering section. The bulk of the armed men and women took up positions in and around the main entrance to Engineering, but every maintenance tunnel, back entrance, and turbolift station was guarded as well. None of which, Janeway thought, gets me back onto the bridge anytime soon.

  There was no point in setting up any forcefields around Engineering; as long as the Ryol had control of the bridge, they could easily deactivate the fields using the security overrides. Forcefields would only provide false security, so she had chosen not to rely on them in this instance. Tuvok had agreed with her assessment. “The Ryol have limited provisions upon the bridge. They might not be able to endure a long siege.”

  “And neither would the hostages,” Janeway said, frowning. She tapped her commbadge decisively. “Janeway to Sickbay,” she announced. “What’s the good word, Doctor? Have you learned anything new about our visitors?”

  “I can hardly be expected to master every nuance of an alien being’s unique physiology in less than an hour,” The Doctor said, sounding slightly piqued, “but the preliminary data is provocative.”

  “How so?” Janeway asked. She kept her gaze fixed on the well-guarded entrance, ready to direct the fight against the Ryol the instant it began. The muzzles of high-powered phaser rifles bobbed above the sea of heads like the tips of deadly icebergs.

  “As nearly as I can tell,” The Doctor said, “their basic metabolism is intertwined with their psionic capacity to an unprecedented degree. Even on a cellular level, their RNA and mitochondria are psychically reactive, and dependent on what we would consider excess psychic energy to function properly. The Ryol have a conventional digestive system, but it’s rudimentary and almost superfluous; a vestigial remnant of an earlier stage in their evolution. They derive most of their sustenance from psychic energy, which they extract from other living beings. Sentient species, naturally, are the best sources of psychic energy.”

  “Such as ourselves and the neffaler?” Janeway prompted him. Damn, she thought. Tuvok was wrong; the Ryol had plenty to dine upon aboard the bridge, namely Chakotay and the other hostages.

  “I assume so,” The Doctor said, “although I have yet to examine a neffaler in person. I would be curious to observe the long-term effects of psychic parasitism inflicted upon a sentient species over several generations.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s an intriguing topic.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t get to observe it firsthand,” Janeway said dryly. “How do they do this, Doctor? Is there anyway of blocking the energy transference?” She kept her eye on the entrance. So far, no Ryol had shown his or her face at the door, but she knew they would have to come here eventually. “This is a matter of more than academic interest at the moment.”

  “Well, there is something else,” The Doctor said, “although it’s not quite what you’re asking for.”

  “Any suggestions you have would be appreciated,” Janeway said. Just give a weapon, she thought. Something I can use to reclaim the ship.

  “Curiously,” The Doctor began, “I became aware of this phenomenon not by examining the Ryol, but by observing myself. As you may not be aware, my own software contains several self-monitoring subroutines that provide a continual moment-by-moment analysis of my state of being. If necessary, I can provide a detailed report on my physical and mental capacities at any given occasion, past or present.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Janeway said, hoping to spur The Doctor toward the point of his little lecture. The Ryol could attack Engineering at any moment; she didn’t have time to indulge the hologram’s fondness for his own voice. “I’m afraid I don’t see the relevance to our present situation.”

  “As I mentioned earlier,” The Doctor continued, “the two Ryol who invaded the sickbay both attempted to employ their unique abilities against me. Naturally, they failed—my energies are quite different from any biological entity’s—but my sensory functions recorded the progress of the psionic wave front generated by the Ryol. In the absence of any organic energy to act upon, the wave front grew disordered and even showed signs of reversing its direction. The readings suggest the possibility of negative feedback if the parasitic effect is unable to connect with its target.”

  “In other words,” Janeway summarized, “holograms give them indigestion.”
Interesting, she thought, feeling a surge of hope. All sorts of intriguing possibilities occurred to her. There had to be some way to turn The Doctor’s discovery to their advantage.

  “Oh, one more thing,” The Doctor added.

  “Yes?” Janeway asked. Now what?

  “Preliminary analysis of the Ryol DNA hints at metamorphic abilities.”

  “What?”

  • • •

  One minute, Tom Paris had Laazia pinned to the floor of the bridge, then, suddenly, Laazia wasn’t Laazia anymore. The Elder’s breathtakingly beautiful daughter changed into something else.

  He could feel the body beneath her indigo cloak shifting beneath his grip, its slender contours expanding, its musculature growing larger and more solid. Her bare arms, extending beyond the hem of the cloak, stretched to twice their original length, their joints popping as flesh and bone reshaped themselves. Tawny golden fur, similar to that which covered her skull but more coarse, sprouted along her reconfigured limbs, even as her pointed nails devolved into long and lethal-looking talons. Paris heard the fabric of her gown tearing. He smelled a musky odor redolent of a caged animal.

  He tried to hold her down despite the violent contortions of her body. Krevorr and Assink hurried to assist him. They each grabbed one of Laazia’s flailing arms, but it was no good. With a savage convulsion, the transformed Laazia shook off her would-be captors. Paris was thrown from atop the bucking spine of the creature, landing on his back not far from the captain’s chair.

  The impact knocked the breath out of him, but he knew better than to take a second to recover. Scrambling to his feet, he saw Assink and Krevorr backing away from the fearsome monstrosity standing erect in the center of the command area. “Laazia?” Paris whispered, unable to believe his eyes.

  The growl that emerged from the creature’s jaws was several octaves lower than Laazia’s usual husky vibrato, but more than just her vocal cords had changed. The thing before him was at least eight meters tall and covered with golden fur. Laazia’s turquoise gown hung in tatters upon the beast’s enormous, bearlike frame. Bits of silver jewelry glittered inappropriately amid shaggy bristles. The elegant sandals had been reduced to scraps of torn leather beneath the creature’s massive paws. The velvet cape, which had once stretched nearly to the floor, now fell to just above her knees.

  Despite the dyed tiger stripes adorning the monster’s skull, its features were more lupine than feline. A snout full of ivory fangs protruded from what had formerly been Laazia’s lovely face. Elongated nostrils flared above those ravenous jaws, while sticky strands of spittle dripped from her mouth onto the shining steel floor. Her transformed ears, larger and more pointed than a Vulcan’s, pointed toward the ceiling. Only the pale green eyes, still gleaming like polished malachite, were unchanged.

  I kissed that on the lips? Paris thought, feeling more than a little queasy. He glanced quickly at his comrades. Krevorr and Assink stood on opposite sides of the command platform, clearly unsure what to do next but never taking their eyes off the were-beast towering over them. Chakotay, his hands still bound behind him, stared at Laazia’s new form with an unmistakable look of recognition. “The beast,” he murmured softly.

  Laazia growled again. Although her gown was in ruins, her voluminous cloak spread out behind her as she swung her arms at the uncertain humanoids surrounding her. Ensign Krevorr managed to duck out of the way, but a backhanded blow from the creature sent Assink flying over the conn to smash headfirst into the main viewer, for a split second, he looked like a comet silhouetted against the starry backdrop.

  Paris marveled at the monster’s strength. Not even Tuvok or B’Elanna could have propelled Assink such a distance with just one blow. I suppose I should be thankful, he thought, that she isn’t just zapping us with those evil eyes of hers. Probably not nearly as satisfying as ripping us to shreds. Laazia glared at him with her baleful green eyes, challenging him. Forget it, he thought. A physical confrontation was out of the question; in her new guise, Laazia could easily tear him apart in hand-to-hand combat. I need an edge, he thought, but what?

  He searched the bridge with his eyes. Damn, he thought. Whatever had possessed him to hand out all of the bridge’s emergency phasers to the Ryol? Then he looked right at the raging beast before him and remembered exactly who and what had, quite literally, possessed him. Never again, he vowed.

  Ensign Krevorr, at starboard forward, was edging cautiously toward the unconscious body of Assink, apparently intent on checking her crew mate’s injuries while simultaneously keeping a close eye on Laazia. Good response, Paris noted; there was obviously no point in engaging the creature in hand-to-hand combat. Access, he thought. He had to shut down the forcefields isolating the bridge, provided he could get to either the tactical console behind the captain’s chair or back to Tuvok’s security station.

  Turning his back hurriedly on Laazia, he vaulted over the guardrail separating the command area from the aft stations. He didn’t move fast enough, though. A swipe from the monster’s huge claws caught him across the back, tearing through both his uniform and his flesh. He gasped out loud, the pain from five bloody gashes blurring into one searing burst of agony, and fell hard against the aft engineering consoles, ramming his shoulder into the bottom of the rear aft Ops console.

  With a howl of rage, Laazia leaped over the guardrail. He heard her land heavily on the floor a few meters away from him. Orienting himself, he realized that the beast now stood between him and the tactical console attached to the aft side of the guardrail. That left only the controls at the security station if he wanted to deactivate the shields, but could he get to it in time, before the were-thing pounced upon him?

  Not very likely, he thought. He still felt his fingers and toes—the monster’s claws had not severed his spinal cord—but his aching body felt like it could hardly move, let alone outrace Laazia to the security station. I need more time, he thought desperately.

  He looked into the beast’s green eyes. Was it just his imagination, he wondered, or was there actually a cruel sort of smile on the monster’s wolflike face? Laazia appeared to be enjoying his distress—until something slammed into her from behind, producing a yelp of surprise.

  It was Chakotay. Even though his hands remained tied behind his back, the first officer had somehow managed to climb back onto his feet, then plowed into Laazia headfirst, giving Paris just the break he needed. Half crawling, half diving, Paris threw himself toward Tuvok’s usual station at the rear of the bridge. Behind him, he heard Laazia turning angrily on Chakotay, but he did not look back. He lunged into the station, then slid into Tuvok’s seat, his torn back leaving behind crimson streaks. His fingers danced across the lighted control panel, hastily undoing the defenses he himself had erected less than an hour ago. What was I thinking? he thought angrily. He forced the guilt from his mind, concentrating on the task at hand.

  A gasp from the command area diverted his attention from the controls. He turned and his heart pounded at the sight: Laazia had Chakotay, her claws wrapped around his throat, his feet dangling almost two meters above the floor. Choking sounds escaped the commander’s lips, even as his face turned first red, then purple. The blue-black ink of his tattoo was barely visible against his darkening complexion. Bubbling foam dripped from Laazia’s jaws as she squeezed the life from the former Maquis leader.

  Paris searched for a weapon, any weapon. He didn’t see anything at first, then he spotted a silver glint from beneath the first officer’s chair. Of course, he remembered. The phaser that Laazia had so casually discarded. It must have fallen to the floor when Voyager took that sharp turn. He glanced around quickly; no one else seemed to have noticed the phaser.

  Ensign Krevorr, Starfleet through and through, ran to save Chakotay. She sprinted clockwise around the perimeter of the bridge, briefly coming between Paris and their foe. Shouting at the top of her lungs, she executed a flying kick into the cloak-draped back of the monster. Paris heard the heels of Krevorr’s boots smash
against the beast’s muscular torso.

  It was like kicking a grizzly bear. Laazia did not even falter. Instead she swung around, using Chakotay as a club to strike out at the courageous young ensign. Krevorr landed squarely on her feet after delivering her kick, but Chakotay’s swinging body batted her aside before she could renew her attack. Krevorr bounced once against the aft monitors, then collapsed onto the floor. She did not get up.

  My turn, Paris thought. He dived toward the command area, rolling onto the floor, snatching up the fallen phaser, and firing it at Laazia. Her attack on Krevorr had brought her around to face Paris, so that the beam, set on stun, hit her directly in the chest. Laazia howled in rage and shock, but did not fall down. The force of the beam was enough to knock her back a few steps, and to cause her to drop Chakotay clumsily onto the floor, yet she remained standing. Paris’s eyes widened in amazement. Even at its lowest setting, a direct phaser blast at this range was enough to drop a charging Klingon. What in space is she made of? he wondered.

  “Why don’t you be a good girl,” he muttered, “and fall like you’re supposed to?” The gashes along his back burned as though they were on fire. Let’s raise the setting, he thought, keeping the beam fixed upon her chest while he stared defiantly into her eyes.

  Her eyes, he realized too late. Oh no. A familiar chill rushed over him, leaching away both strength and resolve. His mind ordered his hand to up the setting on his phaser to full strength, but his fingers would not respond to his commands. He was paralyzed, unable to move or even look away from the hypnotic green eyes this creature shared with Laazia’s earlier incarnation. His knees buckled beneath the awful cold that had gripped him. The blood streaming down his back felt like ice water. He could not even summon the strength to hold on to the phaser. It slipped from his fingers to land with a sharp metallic ring upon the floor. I’m sorry, Captain, he thought. I tried to do my best.