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

by Christie Golden

  Miral was silent. Torres wondered if she had somehow offended her mother, and then Miral said, “It is much joy to me to know that my name will live on in such a precious child. I want to see this bat’leth the Klingon captain gave her. I am sure it is beautiful indeed.”

  Her heart full, Torres rolled over and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The low growl woke her up.

  She stayed still, her heart pounding, trying to ascertain if the noise she had heard was real or imaginary. It came again, and she heard the soft noises of Miral moving on the furs next to her.

  “It is a grikshak,” said Miral in the faintest of whispers, her lips right at B’Elanna’s ear. “Here.”

  B’Elanna felt the wooden shaft of a spear being thrust into her hand. She swallowed hard. Whatever was out there was big. At Miral’s touch on her shoulder, she began to crawl forward as quietly as possible toward the front of the cave.

  [221] By the faint light of the stars, B’Elanna could see the creature snuffling about the campsite. Her mother was right. It was indeed a grikshak, much bigger than the one she had killed earlier. It was hard to tell the color in the dim light, but when it moved its head B’Elanna saw the tusks. A mature female, then.

  “Stay quiet,” came Miral’s voice in her ear. “It will not attack unless it knows we are here.”

  Torres realized she was shaking. Her stomach clenched. It had been hard enough to kill the young female, but to take on an adult one—

  The grikshak froze. Its nostrils twitched, and slowly it turned its massive head to the cave.

  “We fight together, daughter,” said Miral, and charged.

  Chapter 20

  Message received and understood, Peregrine. We have several people working on finding a cure for the virus and they feel they are close to a solution. Now that we know where the threat lies, finding a cure will be our secondary goal. Admiral Montgomery says to tell you, and I quote, “We’re going to take the bitch down.”

  “Yes!” Libby cried, pounding her fist on the table so hard it startled a napping Rowena. Quickly she sent a reply:

  You may trust Assistant Director Aidan Fletcher. He is prepared to assist you from inside Starfleet Intelligence. You need to be aware that it is highly likely, though not yet confirmed, that there are Borg nanoprobes carrying the virus scattered throughout the complex. Anyone who ventures inside could become infected. I am sending you [223] two sets of coordinates, those of Starfleet Intelligence’s command center and those of Covington’s own office. Utilize whichever location seems wisest to you. Take all precautions.

  An instant later, she received a response.

  How do you know we can trust Fletcher? If what you’re saying is true, then Covington, Grady, and Blake are involved. Who’s to say Fletcher isn’t?

  You’ll have to believe me, Lieutenant Kim. I haven’t led you astray thus far. A.D. Fletcher is trustworthy and has been brought up to speed. You’re wasting time. She hesitated, and then wrote, Godspeed.

  She severed the connection. He would not be able to get in touch with her again unless she initiated the contact. Libby wouldn’t know if they were successful until someone deigned to let her know. This was the part that chafed—letting others go in and do the tough stuff.

  Quickly she contacted Fletcher. “Clear?” she asked, making sure it was safe to speak.

  “Clear.” He looked worn out, but hopeful. “Were you able to reach your contact?”

  “Yes. You’re going to be hearing from Harry Kim and Admiral Montgomery shortly,” she said without preamble. “Probably all of Voyager’s, senior staff, too, I think.”

  His eyes widened slightly, but other than that he betrayed no surprise. “Guess you do have friends in high places. All right. We’ll be waiting for them. We’ll take it from here. Libby—”

  “Yes, sir?”

  He smiled. “Very, very well done.”

  [224] “Thanks,” she said, then added, somewhat inanely, “Let me know what happens, okay?” He actually laughed at that. “You bet,” he said.

  “Are you ready, Your Majesty?” asked the EMH.

  Covington nodded. She stood in her alcove, the EMH and Blake only a meter away. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry, but she was indeed ready.

  “May I caution you one last time that this might be more than your implants can process?” said the EMH.

  “You may not,” growled Covington. “Proceed. We’re running out of time.”

  Sighing, the EMH turned to Blake and nodded. “Go ahead, Mr. Blake. The Queen commands it.”

  “Um ... yes, of course. Here we go. I’m going to start you slowly, Dir—Your Majesty.”

  “At the first sign of trouble, I will terminate the connections,” the EMH said.

  “No you won’t. Only if I am in extreme danger. We’ve spent several years proceeding with caution, but the time for that has passed. Now, gentlemen.”

  She stood in her alcove and watched as Blake began to download the information from Starfleet Intelligence systems into her brain.

  Covington had linked with her collective before. She was starting to grow accustomed to the myriad voices in her head, even to be able to control and separate them out as she chose. But this was different. Harsher, somehow. Lacking human warmth. The information flooded her brain, but at first she was able to stay on top of it.

  Here was a report from a spy in deep cover on [225] Vulcan. There were the personal security codes for the head of Starfleet Intelligence. Here were the instructions for the replicators. She smiled a little as she wondered if she could order cinnamon rolls just by thinking about it.

  More information came. Messages, thousands of them. One of them registered like a blow upon her consciousness. Just a few moments ago, Libby Webber had contacted Fletcher on a secured channel. A meeting on a beach in Maine was one thing, but Webber would not need a secure channel for romantic chitchat. This could only mean one thing—Covington had seriously underestimated Agent Webber.

  Her head started to ache and her lips went dry as her breathing quickened.

  “How are you handling it?” Blake’s voice floated to her. She frowned. It would be easier if she could just hear his thoughts. Vocal speech was so clumsy, so slow.

  Covington moved her lips, heard her own voice, strange-sounding, emerge in a croak. “More.”

  “I’m going to branch out now, to the rest of the Starfleet systems. This might be a little overwhelming at first.”

  “Overwhelming” was a pallid word for the intensity of what struck Covington. It was like stepping out the door into the heart of a raging river. Information assaulted her, choked her, raped her. Colors flooded her brain, data pounded her consciousness. So much—so much! Transporter records, command codes, personnel information, security protocols, status reports, every last speck of information in every official Starfleet computer throughout the Federation spewed forth at the [226] same time. She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t even control her own body sufficiently to do so. Her heart was racing wildly. She could sense it, could feel the blood flowing through her veins, could hear the cells multiplying and dividing—

  Her ears recorded voices, but her brain was too numb to decipher the words. Skin registered pressure and her heart slowed. She felt cold all of a sudden and shivered violently. Her legs, locked as solid as if they had been made of metal, suddenly went rubbery and gave way.

  The complex swirl of sound, sensation, and information began to fade. Frantically, Covington tried to cling to it, but to no avail. She was losing it. She had all the information contained in Starfleet systems in her head and now she was losing her grip on it. No!

  She reached out with her mind. What was the most important thing, out of these billions of bits of information, for her to know? She asked for it, and it came, lodging in her memory just as darkness claimed her.

  Covington regained consciousness to discover that she was securely held by the EMH.

  “No,” she murmur
ed weakly, “no, don’t disconnect me ...”

  “I had no choice,” the EMH said. “You were in cardiac arrest. We’ll try to link you up again in a few hours and see how—”

  “No,” Covington said as her strength returned. She squirmed in the EMH’s arms, and he set her down. “I have to relink. Now. They know, they’re coming.”

  “How do you know?” asked Blake anxiously.

  “It ... it was hard to pinpoint anything,” she [227] admitted. “But right before I lost consciousness I focused on the one thing I most needed to know. I accessed every transporter log in Starfleet databanks. Janeway, Kaz, Data, and Montgomery are all together aboard Voyager right now, and Libby Webber has been helping them. I have no doubt they have shared information, and that their combined knowledge will lead them directly here.”

  She turned her gaze upon Blake, who visibly shrank before it. “I will need to activate my drones. All of them.”

  Blake looked to the EMH, pleading. “Her implants aren’t ready,” he said.

  “You will address your comments to me!” Covington ordered.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I regret to inform you that your signal is still too weak. It’s taken several years for you to adapt this much. You—you may never have the same capacities as a true queen.”

  Covington felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. “What? You never told me that before!”

  “I didn’t know for certain,” stammered Blake. “Everything was so new. Frankly, I didn’t know we’d be able to get this far. We’re reinventing the wheel, discovering all this from the ground up. We’ve got a bit of real Borg technology and are trying to create the rest. We’ve done a remarkable job so far, especially with so few of us involved, but I can’t guarantee you’ll achieve anything further. I certainly can’t enhance your signal to activate all those infected across the planet. You’ve been able to reach them one by one, but—

  “You have made your point quite clear, Mr. Blake,” said Covington coldly. “Let me make something clear [228] to you. If you cannot assist me, you will fall with me. And I will throw you to the Starfleet wolves with glee. Do you understand?”

  Blake swallowed. “Yes, Majesty. But you must understand that I cannot do the impossible.”

  The anger that surged through her surprised her. She had never hated a man so badly since the assaults of the Hand had stopped. She wanted to tear him limb from limb, but she still needed him, at least for a time.

  “What can you do for me? Can I reach the drones in quarantine?”

  Looking as if he might be physically sick, Blake shook his head. “The sites are too scattered, and there are too many.”

  “Besides,” said the EMH, “what good would it do you? They’re well secured. It might provide a distraction, but your goal needs to be to protect yourself—and us, so that we may continue to loyally serve.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Link me up again, to a more limited amount of computers. Perhaps a solution will offer itself.”

  Blake looked at the EMH, who sighed and looked annoyed, but who nodded. Blake’s long fingers flew.

  “There,” he said. “This is just Starfleet Intelligence computers. How are you handling that amount of inflow?”

  Covington swayed as her brain was assaulted, but gritted her teeth in determination. There. It was difficult, but not impossible, to control it. She looked thoughtfully at Blake.

  “Could I activate those who have been exposed to the virus in this building?”

  [229] Relief at being able to offer a positive answer spread across Trevor Blake’s unremarkable face. “Oh, yes, indeed, Your Majesty. The signal will easily go throughout the building. You’ll be able to instantly—

  The words stopped abruptly as his eyes widened. Her smile spread. He knew what she meant to do. Wildly he turned to the EMH, but found no sympathy in that arrogant being.

  “Not me, Majesty,” he begged. “You need me to serve you!”

  “You will continue to do so, never fear,” she said sweetly, and with a thought, she activated the virus.

  Assistant Director Aidan Fletcher’s face was conducive to trust, Janeway thought. But then again, so was Red Grady’s face. At this point, they had little option but to believe the shadowy Peregrine.

  Although Fletcher looked tired, as if he had recently been under a great strain, he smiled.

  “Admirals,” he said. “My operative told me that I could expect to hear from you. This line is completely secure, I assure you. I assume you’ve been brought up to speed?”

  Before Janeway could reply, Montgomery said “Actually, I’d like to hear it from you, if you don’t mind.”

  “I can understand your suspicion,” Fletcher said without missing a beat, and proceeded to confirm everything they had heard and been able to figure out on their own.

  “It looks like we can trust one another,” Janeway said, and had just opened her mouth to tell Fletcher what they had discovered about the virus when he suddenly twitched violently.

  “Fletcher?” asked Montgomery. “What’s going on?”

  [230] Aidan opened his mouth to speak. Color bled from his face as his skin took on a strange gray pallor. He toppled from his chair out of sight, but not before Janeway saw an ominous black and silver implant sprout on his cheek.

  At once, the connection was severed. She and Montgomery found themselves looking at the Federation insignia on the screen.

  “She has activated the nanoprobes in the building,” Seven of Nine stated flatly. “As Peregrine warned was a possibility.”

  “There are over two hundred people stationed there!” Montgomery exclaimed.

  “All of whom, presumably, are now Borg drones under Covington’s command,” said Chakotay. “And everyone who goes in there is going to become Borg, too.”

  “Not everybody,” the Doctor said triumphantly. “You won’t.”

  They all turned to regard him. He basked in the spotlight for a moment, and then explained. “Thanks to the confluence of brilliant minds, we have achieved a vaccine of sorts. Let me show you.”

  He stepped over to the computer screen. “You may recall, Admiral, that when we were engaged in conflict with Species 8472, we learned that their biology was so advanced they were able to destroy the Borg nanoprobes that infiltrated their bodies.”

  “I had access to the Doctor’s work, of course,” Kaz said. “I was trying to see if we could create a modified nanoprobe that would attack and destroy the original Borg nanoprobes that controlled the virus.”

  [231] “Tiny robots battling it out in your bloodstream,” said Paris approvingly. “Fun for the whole family.”

  “Unfortunately, I was unable to do so,” Kaz continued, ignoring Paris.

  “But Dr. Kaz’s research pointed us in the right direction,” Data said. The Doctor looked vaguely annoyed, Janeway thought. He was used to being the one who revealed all the information. Now he had Kaz, Data, Seven, and Icheb assisting him, all of whom had contributed to the solution.

  “Modified probes are indeed the answer,” Data continued. “But we have insufficient time to pursue Dr. Kaz’s theory. We would have to replicate the same number of nanoprobes as were already in a human body.”

  “We then decided to shift our focus from destroying the Borg nanoprobes to inferring with the signal that caused them to activate,” Seven said. “Observe.”

  Janeway watched on the computer’s screen as a modified nanoprobe seemed to swim into the midst of a host of Borg nanoprobes. It unfolded and as it did so, the Borg nanoprobes closed in on themselves and seemed to shut down.

  “It won’t repair what damage has been done,” Seven continued. “The victims will require surgery to remove the implants, but that is not difficult. What this will do is disconnect them from the hive mind and the queen’s orders.” She caught Janeway’s eye, and smiled slightly. “And we all know what that does.”

  “Is this a permanent solution?” Tuvok inquired.

  “Unfortunately,
not at this stage,” the Doctor replied, quickly, before his colleagues could speak. “The Borg [232] probes are persistent little things, and they’ll eventually destroy our probes. You will, however, be protected for several hours.”

  “This would not be effective against a true Borg queen,” Seven said. “It is only because the false queen’s signal is so weak that the modifications to the probes are able to block it.”

  “How many of these nanoprobes can you create?” Montgomery asked.

  “Not enough to protect a full security team trying to storm the building,” the Doctor said regretfully. “We began replicating them as soon as we thought they might be part of a solution, but we only have enough to protect five, perhaps six people.”

  “Our goal must be to disconnect the queen from the hive,” Seven said. “That is the safest route. Since we are unsure of the details of how she has created her collective, we must assume that her death could possibly traumatize the drones.”

  “I don’t suppose you could do it from here?” asked Janeway.

  “Negative. I must be on site.”

  “If we’re able to reach her, do you think you will be able to disconnect her?” Janeway asked.

  “I believe so.”

  “Our goal is to liberate her drones, not kill them,” Janeway said, nodding in agreement. “That’s going to be tricky.” She looked around the room. “I see more than six people here,” she said.

  “You’re not cutting me out of this, Janeway,” said Montgomery.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” she replied. “Seven, you’re [233] the one most familiar with how the Borg operate. Mr. Data, I can’t order you to come along.”

  Data cocked his head. “I do not require the nanoprobes to protect myself from the virus,” he said. “Therefore, you can bring an extra person if I accompany you. Besides, I think my friend Commander Riker would put it this way: I would not miss it for the world.”