STAR TREK: VOY - Homecoming, Book Two - The Farther Shore

by Christie Golden

  And yet ... Montgomery, and even Commander Grady, had been adamant about not allowing anyone from Voyager to return to the ship. What made them change their minds? And why now? And why was Commander Data with him? Last Watson had heard, the android still served on the Enterprise.

  Although all protocol had been observed, his instincts were still warning him that something was wrong.

  “Something just doesn’t feel right about this,” Watson said at last, still staring at the door. “Get the second team up.”

  As she sat roasting the flesh of some creature she’d trapped and killed—it had large soft eyes, four legs, and horns along its spine, but she didn’t know its [129] proper name—Torres thought back to the last time she had sat beside a fire cooking her dinner. It had been with her father, uncle, and cousins during that final, disastrous camping trip. B’Elanna smiled as she tried to apply the term “camping trip” to the Challenge of Spirit.

  She hadn’t killed her dinner then; just brought hot dogs and marshmallows to roast over the fire. There had been comfortable tents, dry, clean clothing, and people—people she loved. There had been companionship, even though it was destined not to last.

  The chunks of meat impaled on sticks dripped juices into the fire. The flame snapped and sizzled. B’Elanna’s mouth watered. The smell was delicious.

  Despite the tentative overtures they had both made upon her returning home, things were still tense between Torres and her father. Now as she sat by the fire alone, waiting for the meat to cook, she realized that she really did want to patch things up. She needed to make things right with both her parents, her put-upon and absent father as well as her audacious, violent Klingon mother.

  Maybe they’d have another campout, B’Elanna and her father and Tom and the new little one. Maybe they could start a new family tradition. As for her mother ...

  Torres still shuddered whenever she thought about the rite she’d been forced to endure prior to embarking on the Challenge. Her memory was hazy, due no doubt to the fumes emanating from the lava pits, but she remembered enough: heat and pain and nakedness. And yet despite the extremity of the ordeal, it had all felt right, appropriate. She had indeed felt reborn as she ventured out into Boreth’s wilderness. She certainly [130] didn’t want to do it again. But she was glad that there had been something, some kind of ceremony, to mark her departure as something worth doing ... something worth acknowledging.

  B’Elanna picked up a skewer and blew on the meat, touching it tentatively until she was certain it wouldn’t burn her mouth. She took a huge bite. Juices flowed down her chin as she chewed. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious. She looked down at the six other makeshift skewers and smiled. She’d sleep with a full belly tonight, and wouldn’t even have to eat a single grub to do so.

  The flesh was melting off her. She’d always been slender, even small, but tough and wiry. Now even the faint layer of fat that had softened her musculature was all but gone. She was bone and blood and muscle and sinew. She made good time during the day, had learned to find food to keep her going, and slept like the dead at night. A few months ago, she would have laughed at the notion that such an intense physical ordeal would be “purifying” rather than a hardship. But now, she knew it to be the truth.

  With every step she took, she was nearer reconciliation with her mother, and that was a journey that had taken years. She sweated her old grudges into the clay that she carefully layered over her body whenever she ran across any mud. The clay absorbed her emotional toxins as well as her physical ones, and when she did run across a clear pool or waterfall and allow herself the luxury of washing off the dirt, she felt cleaner than she had ever felt in a sonic shower.

  Despite herself, she had to admit that she was thriving on this diet of fruit, tubers, grubs, and close-to-raw [131] meat. She could almost feel her body greedily absorbing the nourishment as she feasted on things that once would have made her stomach churn. No wine or replicated beverage tasted as sweet as water from a rushing brook or raindrops caught in a large, carefully positioned leaf. She had no husband or child to take care of, no engines to repair, no crew to manage, no captain to report to. Only the jungle and the sky, and her ceaseless steps over the harsh terrain which would take her toward this next segment of her life.

  For the first time, B’Elanna Torres really understood what her mother had been trying to tell her. There was a deep, resonant purity in scoured skin, in hardened muscle, in casting off the vestiges of the comfortable, ordered, technical life. She could hear her heart steadily pumping blood, could feel the oxygen she drew into her three lungs enriching that blood, could feel her muscles working as they obeyed her thought: Keep walking. Here, in the most unexpected of places, was a kind of peace the tormented half-Klingon woman had never thought to find.

  “I’ve got to tell Chakotay about this,” she said aloud, to hear herself speak. She’d talked to herself a great deal when she first embarked on this adventure. She had needed to hear a voice, even if it was just her own. Surrounded by people as she had been for the last seven years, solitude and silence was unfamiliar and, if she were to admit the truth, a bit frightening.

  But the more time she spent by herself, the more she realized that she wasn’t truly alone; the more time she spent in silence, the more obvious it became that she was embraced by sound. There were countless [132] species here in the rain forest to keep her company, and they all spoke. She learned to listen to them and not herself, to the point that now, as she uttered the phrase, her voice sounded harsh and unused in her own ears.

  Content with her own company and that of the thousands of other beings who lurked unseen, she finished the meal in silence. She ate the meat off of all seven of the skewers and her belly swelled with food. It rumbled, uncomfortable and unused to the volume she’d just subjected it to. She patted it gently, trusting that it would digest properly and that her body would welcome the nutrients.

  Torres glanced over at the carcass. There was still a lot of meat left. It would last marginally longer in a cooked state than in raw, certainly enough to feed her through the day tomorrow at least and perhaps the day after. She started to load up the skewers again when she heard a sharp crack.

  She was on her feet at once, a makeshift spear in her hand. Beyond the ring of light cast by the fire, the jungle was utterly dark. There was no moon tonight, and the stars offered too little illumination. She stood as still as if she had been carved from stone, resenting even her breathing, even her heartbeat, as her ears strained to catch any sound. The jungle, so full of birdcalls and sounds of insects and other creatures, had gone very, very still.

  It came again. Crack.

  Torres cursed herself mentally. She ought not to have lit the fire. She could digest raw meat. She’d done it before. But the quietness—and dryness—of the last few days had lulled her into a false sense of security, and [133] the thought of a bright, cheerful fire crackling away while she roasted the meat had been too seductive for her to resist.

  But now something was out there, something big, it sounded like, by the rustling of bushes. She debated extinguishing the fire, but it was too late for that to do her much good. Anything lurking in the night was going to see better than she could by starlight, and she needed every advantage. She slowly stepped forward and took a bundle of twigs she had gathered and tied together for just this purpose, and lit one end.

  With her makeshift torch, Torres stepped forward. She held it aloft, trying to catch the glint of the eyes of the Something that was making all the ruckus. If she needed to, she could also use the torch as a weapon. Most wild creatures had a natural fear of fire. Was it another grikshak? Or maybe one of the maasklaks.

  She moved boldly through the jungle. No sense in stealth now. The light of the fire grew fainter behind her and the darkness closed in. Every nerve ending was alert. Where was it? She’d have heard if it had left. It was still here ... watching her ... waiting for her.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw s
omething move, something that was darker than the rest of the darkness. A cry burst from her throat as she whirled, brandishing the torch.

  Something knocked the torch out of her hands. It went flying and landed in a pile of foliage, smoldering sullenly as the flames tried to catch the wet leaves on fire. Another blow, this time to her midsection. B’Elanna went sprawling, the wind knocked out of her. Even as she tried to scramble to her feet, she knew it would be [134] too late. The spear clutched in her left hand would be less than useless at this close range. She wished she’d brought her chipped stone dagger instead.

  The thing dropped on top of her. She struggled, but even as it dawned on her that this was no animal, but a humanoid, a voice cut through her haze of adrenaline:

  “ ’Lanna!”

  Chapter 11

  “MR. DATA, you’re more in touch with how things would be run on a Federation starship than I am at this point,” said Janeway as they strode toward Cargo Bay Two. “What kind of security systems would be in place on Voyager right now, under these circumstances?”

  “Starfleet regulations currently stipulate that under normal conditions a docked vessel would have only minimal security,” said Data. “However, given the unique nature of Voyager, and the nature of the present threat against the Federation, I would think that a security team on the level of R-54B would be in place.”

  “Which is?” asked Tom.

  Data turned to address him. “There would be a total of eight security guards of the rank of lieutenant and upward stationed on Voyager for the duration of the project. They would work in four-day shifts of twelve [136] hours each. Therefore, at any given time, four people would be on active duty.”

  “And the rest would just hang out here?” asked Tom.

  “They would be assigned individual quarters aboard Voyager and take their meals and entertainment here.”

  Chakotay and Janeway exchanged glances. “Those aren’t bad odds,” said Chakotay.

  “No,” Janeway agreed. “First things first. We’ve got to get Seven and Icheb regenerating.”

  “Watson seemed dubious when you described our purpose here,” said Tuvok. “I do not think he fully trusts us. His suspicions would be aroused if we activate two regeneration chambers.”

  “We’ll explain it as part of the research we need to do on the Borg virus,” Janeway replied.

  “Commander Tuvok is correct,” said Data. “Seven of Nine and Icheb will be unable to utilize their holographic disguises while they are in the regeneration chambers. Commander Watson will know that his suspicions are accurate if he appears in Cargo Bay Two and discovers two former Borg regenerating.”

  “Then we have to make sure he doesn’t find out about it,” said Janeway. “Tuvok, you were my head of security on this ship. I’m going to entrust you with keeping Icheb and Seven safe from discovery while they’re regenerating. Harry, I need you at Ops. Can you dismantle the system to the point where Watson won’t be able to detect our poking around in the regeneration chambers?”

  “I think so,” he said, “though B’Elanna’s better at that sort of thing.”

  “We don’t have B’Elanna and we do have you,” Janeway said pointedly. “Can you do it or not?”

  [137] “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Good. While you’re at it, I want you to be able to block any attempts Watson might make at contacting Montgomery.”

  Kim nodded. “That’s actually easier. What about any incoming messages?”

  “Download them into a buffer and read them when you get the chance. I want to know about every contact that’s made.” She squeezed his arm. “Do it.”

  He grinned. “Aye, Captain. I mean—”

  “I think I like Captain better anyway.” She winked at him as he turned and headed for the turbolift.

  When they entered Cargo Bay Two, Janeway felt the shock almost like a physical blow.

  “Oh my God,” said Paris, giving voice to what they all felt. Behind her, Janeway heard Seven of Nine take a quick breath.

  It almost looked as if Cargo Bay Two had been under attack. Two of the five alcoves had been completely removed, probably for further study in a more controlled environment. Another one was utterly destroyed. The remaining two looked almost as bad.

  Calmly, Data took out a tricorder. “The destruction is largely cosmetic,” he said, reassuring them slightly. “None of the units is functional at the moment, but I believe that we can repair these two. We will need to utilize components from the third.”

  “Then let’s get cracking,” said Janeway. She put a reassuring hand on Icheb’s shoulder. “We’ll get you two in there in no time.”

  * * *

  [138] Harry Kim felt very odd as he rode up the turbolift to the bridge.

  How many thousands of times had he done this over the last seven years? And yet this time was profoundly different. This time, he wasn’t reporting for duty, as a trusted crew member of a ship he was devoted to. This time he was returning as an infiltrator, a spy, almost. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He didn’t belong on this ship anymore. What he was about to do could be construed as treason. He knew that he might well be facing a court-martial in a few days.

  Then again, there might not be anyone to conduct a court-martial in a few days. He didn’t know the precise rate of infection, but he knew enough to make him scared to death. Which was why he was here, all but a fugitive aboard his own ship, about to do what he was about to do.

  As the turbolift settled to a stop, he thought he heard a human voice saying something along the lines of “Fire phasers!” The doors hissed opened and he stepped out quickly, concerned. He was just in time to see someone standing beside the captain’s chair looking slightly flustered. Harry smothered a grin. Someone had been playing “captain.”

  To cover his embarrassment, the security lieutenant pulled out his phaser and barked, “You’re not a regular member of the security staff. State your name and purpose.”

  Harry lifted his hands. “Whoa, whoa, Lieutenant. My name is Lieutenant Harry Kim. I’m here with Admiral Janeway to do some research for Starfleet on the Borg virus. Commander Watson didn’t notify you?”

  [139] “No, he didn’t,” said the lieutenant. Still keeping the phaser trained on Harry, he stepped quickly to Ops. “Lieutenant Crais to Commander Watson. I have an unknown person on the bridge. Says he’s Harry Kim, and he claims he accompanied Admiral Janeway on board.”

  “He’s with Janeway, but what the hell is he doing on the bridge?” came Watson’s voice.

  “Commander,” said Kim, stepping over to his old post, “This is Lieutenant Kim. I’m here to do some research.”

  “What do you need to be on the bridge for?”

  What did he need to be on the bridge for? Other than his real purpose, of course.

  “I need to do some work at Ops and the science station. It’s classified.”

  There was a long silence, during which the lieutenants eyed each other. Finally Watson said, “You may proceed.”

  Taking a tip from Janeway, Harry smiled and stuck out his hand. “Sorry to have given you a scare,” he said.

  Crais hesitated, and then shook the proffered hand. He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes and there was a trace of a blush on his cheeks.

  “I’m Leo Crais. Welcome aboard—or should I say, welcome back aboard, Mr. Kim.”

  “You recognized me.” A few weeks ago, Harry would have been pleased, but now he was only worried. How many people would know him and the rest by sight?

  “Took me a minute, but yeah. So,” Crais said almost hopefully, “what are you working on?”

  Harry said a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening: Save me from bored security guards. He smiled apologetically.

  [140] “Sorry. Like I told Commander Watson, it’s classified. I’m sure you know all about stuff like this.”

  Crais looked slightly disappointed, but the compliment appeased him.

  “Oh, sure. Beta level clearance and all that
. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

  Harry heaved a sigh of relief as the lieutenant went back to sitting in the captain’s chair. He turned his attention to his appointed task. Not a minute too soon, either. Crais hadn’t taken two steps before a light started flashing on the console. Quickly Harry stepped in front of it in case Crais decided to come back for a second round of banter. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the panel had already been removed and the insides of the console lay open. He knelt and began working. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. Everything was a mess in here, and he was having difficulty locating the—

  “Hey, why is the light flashing?”

  Adrenaline flooded Harry’s system. He fumbled with the wires, trying to sound nonchalant as he replied, “That’s just me, I was testing something.”

  The light stopped flashing. Harry held his breath, waiting for Crais to contact Watson, to reveal that Harry wasn’t what he was pretending to be, to level a phaser at him. ...

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Harry let out his breath and closed his eyes. Sweat dappled his forehead.

  “What does Ops have to do with researching a cure for the Borg virus?”

  Damn. Harry rose and tried to look mysterious and commanding. He suspected he largely failed.

  [141] “There was a point on our journey where we had Borg technology integrated with nearly every system,” he said airily. “How they cross-reference is classified.”

  Crais looked at him with narrowed eyes. Harry suspected he was pushing his luck. Crais might be bored and inventing games to while away the time, but he wasn’t a fool. He felt the other’s gaze boring into his back as he knelt and began to fiddle again with the controls.

  It was a mess, as was the rest of the bridge. Each station had been taken apart and even if it had been put back together again, as was the case with Ops, it had been a halfhearted job.

  “Project Full Circle sure didn’t live up to its name,” he muttered.