Once she had installed the swing, she turned to him and said, “What do you think?”
“I love it,” Tom replied automatically. “But assuming it’s for the new baby, it doesn’t have to start living there just yet, right?”
“Of course not,” B’Elanna replied, but she made no move to take it down. Instead, she crouched down and began rifling through the padds he had knocked over.
“Um,” Tom hesitated, his eyes now mirroring his daughter’s in width, “what else do you have there?”
“I’ve replicated a new curriculum for Miral,” she said without looking up.
“Preschool?” Tom asked.
“Yes.”
“And where were you thinking we might store these new materials?” he asked.
“I’m working on it,” B’Elanna replied, finally looking up and meeting his eyes with a gaze that dared him to find fault with her.
“Great.” Tom smiled, hoping his terror wasn’t too obvious.
“We’re going to need all of this and more when the baby comes,” B’Elanna said, rising and placing her hands on her hips, studying her handiwork.
“Right, but that’s not going to be for several more months, and in the meantime, couldn’t we just replicate these things as we need them and then recycle them?”
“It’s a waste of time and energy,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m planning some storage units for this area,” she went on, indicating the space just below the room’s long window.
Tom had harbored no illusions that once the new baby came, their living space was going to be very tight, but he wouldn’t have considered seriously tackling the problem for months. B’Elanna, obviously, had other ideas.
“Have you checked in with Nancy this morning?” he asked as casually as possible. “She might . . .”
“She’s fine.” B’Elanna cut him off. “This is essentially downtime for the engineering staff. They’re running standard diagnostics and tweaking the warp and slipstream drives for efficiency. They don’t need me,” she assured him.
Tom rose and moved to her, stopping short of an embrace. “I know we have to figure this out, and I’m more than happy to leave it in your beautiful and capable hands, but don’t be afraid to take your time, honey. You need your rest.”
Their eyes met again and he saw fear radiating from hers.
“I don’t know how we’re going to make this work,” she admitted softly.
Finally, he wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll talk to Chakotay,” he said.
“Not yet,” she reminded him, pulling back.
“Soon,” he insisted. “I know there isn’t a square inch of this ship that isn’t spoken for, but I’ll come up with something.”
B’Elanna nodded.
“See you at the briefing?”
“Sure.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Tom stepped nimbly around the many obstacles now in his path and reached the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, he shuddered. B’Elanna’s “nesting” instincts hadn’t kicked in with Miral until she was almost eight months pregnant. So far, everything about this pregnancy was different, and meeting Miral’s needs in the meantime was adding to the strain. B’Elanna needed his support, but she also needed to be gently reminded of the reality of their circumstances. He would have given anything to be able to run this past Chakotay because he was reaching his wit’s end.
At least you’re not facing the end of the universe, he thought. But clearly life as he had come to know it was slipping farther from his grasp every day.
As soon as Commander O’Donnell arrived on Voyager, Captain Chakotay ordered all senior officers to the conference room. O’Donnell had brought his first, Lieutenant Commander Fife, and also had asked Url, who was already aboard, to join them.
“Lieutenant Kim suggested you have made some troubling discoveries about the planet,” Chakotay said by way of opening the meeting.
“We have,” O’Donnell replied. “Commander?”
Lieutenant Commander Fife activated the holographic display before them and instantly an image of the planet appeared. Simultaneously, significant data on its composition was listed on the room’s large, flat panel display at one end of the table. O’Donnell stood before it as he began.
“This is a pretty young planet,” he observed. “It was formed between two point two and two point five billion years ago. Life arose within the last five to eight hundred million years.”
“That’s hard to believe given the variety of life-forms it already sustains,” interjected Lieutenant Patel, who specialized in xenobiology.
“I think the word you are looking for is unlikely,” O’Donnell corrected her. “I am forced to conclude that many, if not most, of the life-forms living here now are not native to this planet.”
“Then where did they come from?” Commander Paris asked.
O’Donnell paused to see if anyone else in the room knew the answer.
“The other planets,” a young Betazoid Lieutenant suggested.
“Very good, Lieutenant . . . ?” O’Donnell asked.
“Lasren,” the man obliged him. “Senior operations officer.”
“You’re the one working with Vincent?”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Donnell continued. “About five hundred years ago, someone moved through this area, destroying every terrestrial world they came across and taking most of the usable metals and minerals they found. It seems, however, that they were not entirely without conscience.”
“Is this planet some sort of conservation park or zoo?” Paris hazarded.
“More like an ark,” Chakotay offered.
“That’s my assessment as well,” O’Donnell agreed. “They probably took more than two of each animal and plant, but small populations of millions of species were brought here. One would think, in hopes of allowing them to survive when their planets had been destroyed.”
“So, what’s the problem, Commander?” Chakotay pressed.
“I don’t know if this was an experiment, a religious observation, or guilt, but it was not well-planned,” O’Donnell went on. “Thousands of species have already died out, and the rest will follow within the next hundred years. This planet can’t sustain them as it is.”
“Why?” Chakotay asked.
“A certain amount of inter- and intraspecies’ conflict is normal for any ecosystem; healthy in fact. It assures that the strongest survive, and it weeds out the weak. That’s not what we’re seeing here. There is nothing natural about the speed with which life-forms are dying on this world. It’s a question of balance. There is excess nitrogen in the atmosphere. This is due to a notable absence of bacteria. The few bacteria that exist are losing their battle for survival to vast varieties of fungi now dominating the largest landmasses. A number of herbivores no longer have sufficient food sources, and an even more alarming number of carnivores are being savaged by swarms of winged beetle-like organisms that flourish thanks to the fungi. This has also created a pollination problem. Insects and other animals that normally cover wide areas dispersing pollen are either dying or being forced into ever-smaller areas. As they go, so go the grasses, grains, and flowering plants. One species doing better than it should is some large herds of shelled creatures on several continents—they seem to like volcanic regions—that are releasing toxic quantities of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, radically altering the acid levels of the ocean by creating fairly regular acid rainfalls. Larger populations of herbivores have already destroyed several forests, and if that process continues, the resulting loss of hundreds of other plant species will leave the herbivores without a food source.
“Long story short, too many life-forms that should never have been asked to coexist are now forced to do so. If left alone, they will mutually annihilate one another. If someone meant to save them, he failed spectacularly,” O’Donnell finished.
Chakotay said evenly, “What does that have to do with us?�
��
O’Donnell stared hard at Chakotay, blinking rapidly. Finally, he said, “You don’t think this is the distress call we came here to answer?” he asked.
“How could it be?” Lieutenant Kim asked.
“Commander Fife?” O’Donnell said, turning to his counterpart.
“I’ve spent the last several days trying to understand the creation of the wave form technology that first contacted Voyager, hid this area of space, and ultimately chose to reveal it to us.”
“As have we,” Doctor Sharak said.
“And what have you concluded?” Fife asked congenially.
This simple act of professional courtesy by Fife seemed to stun and please Chakotay. He bit back a smile as Lieutenant Patel replied, “The doctor and I have concluded that they are not a naturally occurring phenomenon.”
“Agreed,” Fife said.
Patel went on. “Subspace is filled with wave forms, but to force any to consolidate, in the way the proctors and sentries have, requires massive amounts of energy, both to rupture subspace, limit the range of damage, and eliminate all other local waveforms, thus forcing the emergence of the entities we perceive as the various individual wave forms.”
“You believe that differentiation between them is the wave harmonics?” Fife asked.
Patel and Sharak nodded.
“Once they are formed, however, we are not aware of how they become capable of collecting, retaining, and transmitting data,” Sharak admitted.
“They learned,” Cambridge suggested.
“They’re not sentient,” Patel replied.
“Perhaps not,” O’Donnell agreed, “but use a tool often enough in a repetitive manner and it begins to show wear. It is altered on an atomic level by its use.”
“But pounding a hammer and slowly wearing away its head doesn’t teach the hammer to operate independently,” Paris chimed in. “It just leaves you with a little less hammer every time you use it.”
“Suppose these wave forms were used to collect information,” Fife replied. “They pass through an object in normal space and retain an imprint of that object. That imprint can later be read by an appropriately tuned scanning device.”
“But there’s no willful transmission on their part,” Patel argued.
“That depends on the scanning technology,” Kim interjected, building on Fife’s reasoning. “They could have been trained, so to speak, to seek out or cease their motion whenever they encounter technology capable of reading their imprints.”
“They do seem to take a pointed interest in them,” Chakotay said. “Which could suggest that their creators/operators were working from starships.”
“They had at least three hundred years of practice, or training, before one of them ventured out to find us or someone like us who could help them,” O’Donnell added.
“Were their creators the ones issuing the distress call?” Chakotay asked.
“I don’t believe so,” O’Donnell replied. “Whoever had the power to do this, to destroy these planets, to harness these wave forms, didn’t want anyone following in their footsteps or discovering their handiwork.”
“Hence the cloaking matrix,” Seven offered.
“Yes,” Fife agreed. “The matrix generators are essentially a complicated adjustment of the wave form properties. But as we’ve seen, they are no longer responding to the programming of their creators. The wave forms that populate this area seem to be acting on their own initiative now.”
“One moment,” Chakotay said. “How do we get from the creation of these complex devices to the devices caring about this planet? What was their purpose in bringing us here, and what is the connection between them and the planet?”
“I not entirely sure yet,” Fife replied. “I don’t know of a starship that is capable of releasing the energy required to create these wave forms. I believe that technology has to be planet based and likely pulls its energy from a planet’s core.”
“Have you discovered evidence of this technology on the planet?” Paris asked.
“Not yet,” Fife allowed.
“But the possibility of its existence suggests we might want to take a closer look, doesn’t it?” O’Donnell asked. “Terrible to think about technology like that being weaponized and falling the wrong hands,” he added with a subtle nod to Fife.
“You honestly believe that these wave forms see this planet as their birth place, know that the planet is dying, and want us to stop it?” Chakotay asked.
“In a nutshell,” O’Donnell replied.
“But even if every single life-form on that planet died, the planet will still exist, along with the energies that were potentially used to create the wave forms. Why would they care about the life-forms on the planet?” Kim asked.
“The original distress call included words to the effect that they were ‘unable to sustain as ordered’?” O’Donnell asked pointedly.
“But that could suggest any number of things. ‘As ordered’ could mean as per the last instructions they received from their creators,” Kim suggested.
“Or it could mean as it was originally organized,” O’Donnell replied.
“We’d be violating the Prime Directive if we interfere,” Paris said evenly.
“I’m not suggesting that we do anything yet beyond confirming our hypothesis,” O’Donnell said.
“How?” Chakotay asked.
“Old-fashioned leg work,” O’Donnell replied.
“It’s a tall order for our limited staffs,” Chakotay noted.
“We don’t usually shrink from those,” the Demeter’s commander offered.
“No.” Chakotay smiled. “We don’t.” He paused briefly, then nodded his assent.
“But . . .” Paris began.
“We’re just looking for now.” Chakotay cut him off. “We’re not doing anything to interfere with the natural progress of the life of this planet, nor are we running the risk of interfering with the development of any sentient life-forms. The questions raised so far are sufficient to warrant further investigation.”
“And if this hypothesis is proven?” Paris asked.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Chakotay replied. “Coordinate with Commander Fife and begin assignment of away teams,” he ordered, clearly ending briefing.
O’Donnell had no idea what Chakotay would conclude once his suspicions were proven, which he was confident they would be. He had no qualms whatsoever about crossing that bridge, but he knew what it would cost Chakotay to do so.
Chapter Twelve
GALEN
For the first time since his arrival at Starbase 185, Axum slept. The Doctor had amended his treatment regimen and begun to inject into Axum small quantities of the catoms he had removed from Seven. Signs of improvement had been rapid and encouraging. The Doctor had continued the transfusions until Axum’s catoms—supported and in many cases replaced by Seven’s—had begun to replicate themselves and repair the physical damage. Rousing Axum from his coma had been uneventful, but the Doctor had not yet used a medical means to force him to full consciousness. He preferred to watch and wait, but he was certain that Axum was out of danger—physical danger at any rate.
Commander Glenn had proven herself to be both capable and extremely helpful throughout. She was a rare Starfleet officer, one who had completed both medical and command training. This combination made her the ideal candidate to lead the crew of the Galen, but the Doctor had only recently grown to appreciate her medical expertise. It was limited, thus far, only by her experience. But she possessed a keen mind and steady hand, and the Doctor did not doubt that over time, she would grow into a brilliant physician, assuming her command duties did not interfere.
The same could not be said of Doctor Mai, whose presence aboard the Galen had become wearisome. Her appreciation of nuance was limited, as was her patience. Mai had only begun to absent herself from the main sickbay in the last few days, since Axum’s recovery had become assured. She had, however, left standing
orders to be notified immediately should he regain consciousness.
Commander Glenn and the Doctor were seated on opposite sides of his desk. The commander was wolfing down her lunch—she often ate as if a phaser was pointed at her head. The Doctor was studying the developments in the catoms that had been transplanted to Axum. It had become an intently diverting and engaging topic of conversation.
The Doctor registered a smile creasing his holographic lips that elicited a chuckle from Glenn.
“Someone is inordinately pleased with himself this morning,” she observed.
Glenn had become one person in whose presence the Doctor did not feel the need to sublimate his well-earned pride.
“I wouldn’t have believed it possible had I not seen it for myself,” he replied.
“Be honest,” she chided him, “you still don’t know exactly why it worked, do you?”
“I have several promising theories,” he retorted. “I won’t be able to test them further until Axum is fully recovered, at which point I will extract some of the catoms that were unique to him and compare them to those originally removed from Seven.”
“You can’t wait, can you?” Glenn asked.
“I will not proceed until I am certain that to do so will not jeopardize Axum’s recovery,” the Doctor assured her.
“It’s a shame you never had a chance to take samples from Doctor Frazier and her people.”
The Doctor shrugged. “I wasn’t aboard Voyager when they were recovered, nor did I possess the ability to identify individual catoms at the time. A shame, though. I agree,” he added. “It would have furthered my research considerably.”
“Maybe we’ll go back and visit them someday,” Glenn offered.
“And ask them nicely to roll up their sleeves?” The Doctor grinned.
“After all Voyager’s done for them, it’s the least they could do,” Glenn replied.
“Perhaps,” the Doctor agreed.
“I’m still puzzled by this Unimatrix Zero,” Glenn said.
“How so?” the Doctor asked.
“What was it? I mean, it can’t have been real?”
Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors Page 16
