by Greg Cox
Every forcefield reaches its limit. Kes glimpsed the crimson glow of the Elder’s ruby leaking out between the clustered bodies of the neffaler, then the bloodred light flickered once more and disappeared.
Finally Kes had to look away. The howling—and the screams—went on for several minutes, but she could not bare to watch any more.
• • •
“The neffaler saw the opportunity and took it,” Chakotay suggested. He sat at the briefing table with the rest of the senior officers. The bruises on his face, Kes noted, were already starting to fade. “The other Ryol had been subdued, Varathael’s power was being threatened for the first time in who knows when—the neffaler decided to strike when the iron was hot. That’s what the Maquis would do.”
“The neffaler are hardly the Maquis,” Tuvok said, “although you may be right concerning the congruence of motive and opportunity. As for the phaser burst, I can only surmise that the unique composition of the alien hull provided the neffaler with some degree of protection from the effects of the phaser. It remains unclear, however, why only the neffaler received the benefits of any extra shielding. Nothing in their biological makeup suggests any form of immunity to phaser energy.”
Seated between Neelix and Torres, Kes kept silent. She had her own theories about what actually happened while she was “dreaming,” but she suspected that Tuvok would find them less than logical. The buried neffaler were finally at peace, though; she knew that much. Even before the rescue team beamed into the rotting cargohold to free the hostages and place the remaining Ryol into custody, she had felt their voices fall silent within her mind. Later she had gone back to the beach to confirm what she already believed: those anguished voices no longer cried out in torment from beyond the black shore. Goodbye, she had thought, feeling her eyes well up with tears and her throat ache from the emotions she felt. Sleep in peace forever.
Captain Janeway’s crisp voice brought Kes back to the present. “I’m not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth, or a gift neffaler, either. The important thing is that the neffaler fought back at the best possible moment. The question now is: what do we do with the Ryol?”
“With the Elder now deceased,” Chakotay said, “Laazia is the new leader of the Ryol. She’s demanding that she and her followers be returned to the planet, and that Voyager depart this system immediately.” He gave the captain a solemn look. “I don’t much like that idea.”
“Neither do I,” Janeway said. “After giving the matter some thought, I’ve decided that the spirit of the Prime Directive is best served by removing the Ryol from Ryolanov, thus giving the neffaler a second chance to evolve naturally.”
“That certainly is one interpretation,” Tuvok put in, one eyebrow raised.
Kes smiled, remembering the undeniable beauty of the ancient neffaler. With the pernicious influence of the Ryol gone, she felt sure that the remaining neffaler would be able to achieve their full potential once more. A young neffaler had joined her on the beach before, the same brave little creature who had befriended both Harry and B’Elanna. Listening to the simple melody the neffaler played upon his toy flute, Kes thought she heard the rebirth of neffaler art and culture in the haunting lilting notes that had brought grateful tears to her eyes. The neffaler of today may be more like their graceful ancestors than they first appear.
“According to the old legends,” Neelix said, “the Empty Ones need to be driven away from all sentient life-forms. We can’t let them spread through the Delta Quadrant again. Not even the Kazon deserve that.”
“There are any number of uninhabited worlds nearby,” Tuvok stated, “where the Ryol can be relocated to. With sufficient natural sources at their disposal, they will be forced to sustain themselves without exploiting another species.”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” the captain said, “except that I want a warning beacon placed in orbit around the new Ryol home to alert any unwary travelers to the dangers involved in contacting the Ryol.”
“We sure could have used something like that,” Tom Paris said. Kes had been shocked, once she got back to Voyager, by the vicious wounds the Elder’s daughter had inflicted on Paris. Thankfully, there had been no permanent damage to his back.
“I’ll say,” Harry Kim agreed. He still looked a little more worn out than was usual for him. The Doctor had prescribed plenty of nutrient supplements—and no more late nights for a while.
Indeed, the only lasting casualty, Kes had learned, was Susan Tukwila. She hadn’t known Tukwila well, but she mourned the woman’s death. Humans lived such an astoundingly long time, by Ocampa standards, that it seemed especially tragic when their lives were cut short this way. She hoped that Tukwila’s life had been better than her death.
“What about the engines?” Chakotay said, looking at Torres. “Did you find anything we can use?”
“Yes and no,” Torres answered. Kes had been relieved to discover that the bump on B’Elanna’s head had produced no complications or concussion. The Doctor had relieved the swelling within a matter of minutes. “No luck with the dilithium crystals. If the Ryol starship ever used dilithium crystals, it must have degraded decades ago. There is plenty of spare antimatter, though. It shouldn’t be too hard to transfer to Voyager’s storage facilities, and we can always use a little reserve antimatter.”
Kes was glad that Torres had found some of what she was looking for. Working closely with B’Elanna had been an interesting experience, she thought; it was too bad that they seldom had occasion to work together.
“Besides,” Chakotay pointed out, “we wouldn’t be doing the neffaler any favors by leaving the antimatter there. It may be contained at the moment, but they’re millennia away from being able to cope with antimatter in any quantities.”
“Very well,” the captain said. “Lieutenant Torres, proceed with the salvage operation, but let’s not waste any time getting that antimatter aboard.” She gave her officers a rueful look. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve had quite enough of ‘paradise’ for the time being.”
Kes understood the captain’s feelings. She’d be glad to leave the black shore behind. She reached over and held Neelix’s hand under the table. Still, despite all the dangers Voyager occasionally ran into, she couldn’t wait to see where they were going next!
Captain’s log, stardate 491750.9. Perhaps instead of worrying about a Mutiny on the Bounty, I should have been rereading The Odyssey instead, especially the verses about Circe’s enchanted island. In the end, however, my crew valiantly refused to succumb to the dangerous temptations of Ryolanov, and I find myself departing this sector with renewed faith and confidence in our ability to cope with whatever the Delta Quadrant throws at us. We may be each of us a long way from home, but we’re in very good company indeed. . . .
Available Now from Pocket Books
MOSAIC
by
Jeri Taylor
Please turn the page for a preview of Mosaic . . .
FOR A FEW, MAGICAL MOMENTS, KATHRYN JANEWAY FELT AS IF SHE were back home in Indiana. The air was warm and slightly humid; there was a scent of something that was almost like newly mown grass; and a gentle insect hum lulled the senses. She could almost forget that she was on an unknown, unnamed planet in the Delta Quadrant and pretend that she was hiking in the rolling hills of her home state.
Her eye fell on a bank of billowing white bushes—a fluffy mass of fronds that looked almost like pillows. It was tempting to lie down for a few moments, savoring the warm afternoon. She reached out and lightly touched one of the thick fronds; it yielded gently, promising a soft cushion.
Janeway glanced around at the rest of her away team, busy scanning for edible foodstuffs: Chakotay, the darkly handsome first officer, led a group of young ensigns who were clearly enjoying their first time on land in over a month; the sound of their laughter rang through the lush valley they were exploring. Chakotay, she knew, was wise enough to let them have some fun. A field trip on a verdant plan
et was just the thing to raise youthful spirits after a month of isolation on a starship.
Half a kilometer away, near the mouth of the valley, her Vulcan security officer, Tuvok, led the second contingent, which had been assigned the task of collecting foodstuffs deemed safe. That determination would be made by Neelix, their Talaxian guide, cook, self-proclaimed morale officer, and all-around handyman. Janeway smiled, imagining the interplay between the two. It had become Neelix’ obsession to bring joy to Tuvok’s life—an effort which the staid Vulcan greeted with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. But Neelix was undeterred, determined to dispel what he insisted was the cloud of gloom that surrounded Tuvok.
Janeway inhaled deeply. It was so much like home—the faint scent of moist soil, a hint of floral fragrance on a gentle breeze—that she decided to yield to temptation. She fell back onto the mound of soft, pillowlike plants and closed her eyes, as if she were lying on a mound of hay. Back home.
The warmth of the planet’s yellow star warmed her face. Insects droned ceaselessly; it would have been easy to drift off to sleep. But she wanted these few moments to be hers—to daydream, to pretend for this short time that she wasn’t sixty-eight thousand light-years from Earth, that she wasn’t carrying the extraordinary responsibility of getting her crew home safely, that she wasn’t struggling to keep alive everyone’s hopes that the journey could somehow be foreshortened. For just these few minutes, she would lie here and imagine that she was back on Earth, had managed to get Voyager home, had seen her crew welcomed as heroes and returned to the loving arms of their families and friends.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, drifting and dreaming, when she sensed that something was wrong. The smell had changed: the fragrant, grassy aroma had altered somehow—it had an edge to it, a—what? A metallic quality?
Janeway opened her eyes and sat up, saw that both teams were aware of something, were scanning with an increased urgency, pointing, calling to each other. She jumped to her feet, and in the same instant identified the odor: ozone. An electrical burning.
And that was the only warning they got.
Suddenly, there was a sizzling snap! A green arcing light pierced the air, and the ozone smell became acrid. Janeway twitched involuntarily, as though she’d suffered an electrical shock. The air itself had become charged by the bolt of—what? Plasma? She scanned quickly and detected a hot, electrically energized field unknown to the Federation database.
A hot wind began to stir, intensifying the burning smell; Janeway’s nostrils began to sting. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the cottony white bushes begin to ripple in the sultry wind, but her mind quickly focused on her crew.
Chakotay and his young group were already on the move, heading toward her, when three or four more bolts of green sliced through the sky, crackling and smoking. This time Janeway heard herself cry out as pain slashed through her body. Were they under attack? Or were they simply caught in an unexpected natural phenomenon? It hardly mattered—whatever these strange flashes were, they were clearly dangerous. She had to get her people out of there.
She hit her commbadge, noting that Chakotay was doing the same, as undoubtedly Tuvok was also. “Janeway to Voyager . . . We need emergency transport.” She repeated the message several times before accepting what she had already suspected: that the electrical disturbance was interfering with the communications system, and it was doubtful the transporters would function through the interference.
Then the air crackled with energy bolts, sizzling and sparking. She heard a scream and saw someone fall to the ground. The hot wind began to gust violently, and the hissing sound of the arcing flashes became deafening. Janeway called out to Chakotay, but her voice was swallowed in the noise and the wind. She waved her arm at him, gesturing him to the mouth of the valley. Ahead of her, she saw Tuvok and his group already on the run. She began sprinting toward them.
But her body wouldn’t behave as it should. Her legs were shaky, uncoordinated, like a newborn lamb’s. She stumbled and then shuddered as another series of green flashes ripped through the air. Now it felt as though oxygen had been depleted from the atmosphere, and her lungs rasped as she drew stinging air into them. Reflexively, she began scanning again, and discovered a possible shelter: in the mountains that ringed the valley were a series of caves; if they could find an opening they might be able to escape this brutal attack.
Chakotay and his group came stumbling toward her, gasping, struggling against the wind. One of the ensigns collapsed to the ground; two others immediately pulled him up. All of them looked frightened but not panicky. Janeway pointed toward the mountains. “Caves,” she yelled, but she barely heard her own voice over the roar of the wind.
Chakotay nodded; he understood. He turned and began herding his young charges to follow Janeway, who was moving toward the nearest outcropping of the mountains, scanning for a possible opening as she went.
Suddenly the tricorder disappeared from view. Janeway registered that fact, then realized everything had disappeared; she saw only a field of black punctuated by jagged green slashes. She barely had time to realize that there had been another series of energy bolts when the pain hit her.
She felt as though she were on fire, muscle and tissue seared, bodily fluids boiling. With an involuntary cry, she fell to her knees, stunned and shuddering. For a moment she was blind, desperate for oxygen, and in agony. But she forced her mind to take control. She stilled herself, locating the pain, isolating it, containing it until it began to subside. Gradually, the green slashes in her vision began to fade, the blackness receded, and she lifted her head.
The young officers were scattered on the ground like dead-wood, writhing and moaning. Chakotay had already begun rising shakily to his feet, assessing their condition. One by one they began to get up, faces pale with shock, staggering, but on their feet.
We won’t survive another round, Janeway thought, and she lifted her tricorder to scan for the nearest opening in the mountains. Then, ahead of her, she saw Tuvok’s group crowding toward a dark slash in the cliff side. She realized they had found the mouth of a cave and she whirled to motion to Chakotay; but he’d already seen and was yelling at the group, gesturing toward the mountain, urging them forward.
The ragged group tried to run, fear of another bombardment of energy bolts propelling them against the fierce wind. Janeway’s legs felt like gelatin, but she forced them to drive forward. The roar of the wind thundered in her ears; her lungs burned and streaks of green still obscured her vision. The side of the mountain seemed kilometers away, but she knew it wasn’t—it couldn’t be more than forty meters now. Tuvok’s group had disappeared into the cave, but her Vulcan friend remained outside, moving toward them, prepared to help.
Thirty meters . . . The wind whipped dirt from the ground, making it even harder to breathe. Janeway glanced behind her to make sure the others were with her; they were, heads down, doggedly forcing their shaking legs to move. Chakotay brought up the rear, ready to help stragglers.
The ozone smell began to build again, and Janeway realized it was the harbinger of another attack; she picked up the pace, yelling at those behind her to hurry. Ahead of her the mouth of the cave yawned like a gaping maw; the figure of Tuvok swam before her, mouth moving, calling to them soundlessly as his words were swallowed in the wind.
And then she was there, Tuvok’s arm steadying her, his firm grip infusing her with strength. She turned and waited as the young people lurched toward the cave opening and tumbled in. Only when they had all entered did Janeway, Tuvok, and Chakotay turn to follow them. The crackle of an energy buildup pulsed through the air; the eruption of a massive charge of bolts created a percussive wave that pushed them through the entrance, and they fell headlong into the cool darkness of the cave.
As soon as they were inside, the roar of the wind receded; the cave was a muffled haven, the air was clean and cool, and the dreadful energy of the plasma bolts, which they could hear outside, didn’t pene
trate the heavy rock. Janeway looked up, squinting in the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the entire away team huddled in the cave, drawing soothing moist air into burning lungs. Neelix was moving among them, comforting them, checking for injury. She turned toward Tuvok and Chakotay, who were already counting their people, making sure everyone had made it to safety.
“All accounted for, Captain,” said Tuvok. She nodded and looked at Chakotay, who seemed to be counting a second time. She noted a worried furrow on his forehead, slightly distorting the distinctive tattoo he wore on his temple.
“What is it?” She moved toward him, fearing the worst. He turned to her, and his eyes told her she was right. “Who isn’t with us?”
“Jerron,” he answered, and they both hurried to the mouth of the cave. She spotted the young Bajoran almost immediately, a crumpled blue form in the distance, where they had all taken the first blast that had driven them to the ground. He must have been separated from the others and left behind when they were temporarily blinded.
Janeway immediately started forward, only to feel Chakotay’s strong grip on her arm, pulling her back. “I’ll get him,” he said, but Janeway jerked her arm loose. “Commander, you’re to stay with your team. Tuvok, too. That’s an order.”
Chakotay held her glance for a moment, not responding, but Janeway didn’t wait for his acquiescence. Taking one last gulp of good air, she hurled herself out the cave opening and into the raging plasma storm.
It had mounted in intensity even in the few minutes they had been in the cave. Instantly, Janeway’s lungs were burning; the air was bitter and caustic; she began to cough uncontrollably. Her eyes watered in the swirling dust. Her legs, which had regained some strength in the cave, turned mushy again, and she felt herself stagger. If she could reach him, get him back before the next round of plasma bursts, she’d make it. But she wasn’t sure either of them would survive another attack.
