Tom took in the room; he had no idea where he was. Behind him was the door. To his immediate right was a large sitting area with a long couch that Miral was bouncing on. Across from it, beyond a small coffee table, was his antique television set. To his left was a small nook complete with data terminals where two could comfortably work. The far wall was banked by a long port. Below it, running the length of the room, was a shelving unit for storage. It was centered by a larger dining table than he was accustomed to. It could seat four and probably six with ease. The far right corner appeared to be a functioning galley, divided from the rest of the room by a short bar, behind which were a replicator and two properly vented burners. Even with all these furnishings, the room still had an open, airy feel to it. The center space could be used to create a variety of play spaces for the children to share.
The room had doorways on either side. Stepping forward and peeking to the right, Tom saw a slightly larger-than-standard bedroom and ’fresher. He then spared a glance at B’Elanna, who was grinning at him from ear to ear as he crossed to the left-side doorway and found two small rooms, one obviously for Miral, as it already contained a number of her playthings, and another set up as a nursery.
Miral scooted past him into her room and shouted, “This is mine, Daddy!”
“I see that, honey,” he said. Of his wife, he asked, “Did you tell Chakotay before you reconfigured this cargo bay for our personal use? Wait, didn’t this use to be the fleet commander’s suite?”
“It was Chakotay’s idea,” she said.
“Does he know something I don’t about Admiral Janeway’s plans?”
“Only that she would have hated these quarters,” B’Elanna assured him.
“Is this what you’ve been doing when you were supposed to be sleeping?”
“Yes,” B’Elanna admitted. “But it was worth it, don’t you think?”
“It’s amazing,” he said. “I don’t know what to say. You don’t want the kids to share a room?”
B’Elanna shrugged. “We could always change it later. For now, it will be good for the baby to have his own space; less of a distraction for Miral. After that, he’ll probably want his own room.”
Tom nodded then caught himself. “His?”
B’Elanna’s smile widened. “That’s right, flyboy. You’re going to have a son.”
Tom felt his face flushing. He hadn’t let himself think much about the baby’s gender until now. He had become comfortable as the father of a daughter. A son? Much as he and his father had found their way back to each other eventually, he worried that his childhood had left him ill-equipped to parent a boy.
“Tom, you okay?” B’Elanna asked.
“I am,” he said.
“We’re going to be late for the briefing,” she added.
“Right,” he said, squaring his shoulders.
“Kula?” B’Elanna called, and the holographic Klingon nanny appeared. “I’ll be back shortly,” she advised the program.
The nanny nodded and entered Miral’s bedroom.
“Miral, behave for Kula. We’ll go to the holodeck as soon as I get back,” B’Elanna added over her shoulder. “You ready?” she asked Tom.
Tom was and he wasn’t. The new life he and B’Elanna were about to embark on was suddenly more real to him than it had ever been. It was terrifying, but in a good way.
“Yes,” he said softly. “And honey?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lieutenant Harry Kim stared in wonder beyond Commander O’Donnell at the main viewscreen of the astrometrics lab. What had once been a planet clouded in a sickly yellowish haze was now a bright world of blues, greens, and browns. As O’Donnell was busy explaining to the senior staffs of both Voyager and Demeter, the proctors had completed the final phase of their work, and the planet could now sustain approximately ninety-two percent of its life-forms indefinitely.
Looking around the lab, Kim saw the same pride and satisfaction he felt reflected on the faces of his fellow officers. The work had been long and arduous, but it had been worth it. They were about to leave one tiny planet a lot better off than it had been when they found it.
If he had any regret, it was that the proctors were not capable of understanding what Starfleet had done for them. The proctors had performed their functions brilliantly and had been given all the data they needed to continue to monitor the planet’s progress and intervene if necessary. But it didn’t feel like a first contact. The deeper connection, the exchange of ideas that was typical of a first contact wasn’t possible. Kim didn’t need to hear a “thank you.” Still, he knew something about this mission would always feel unfinished for him.
Captain Chakotay was lavishing praise upon all assembled and admonishing them to pass along his sentiments. He thanked Kim, Conlon, Seven, Patel, and Commander O’Donnell. There had been plenty of tension between the ships’ captains when this mission had begun, but it was behind them. After working together, Kim had decided that he genuinely liked O’Donnell and suspected that deep down, the commander was growing on Chakotay as well.
As the room began to empty around them, Doctor Sharak approached the tactical officer. “I would trouble you for a moment with your permission, Lieutenant.”
“How can I help you, Doctor?” Kim asked, smiling at the formality with which Sharak often began personal interactions. Given the vast, and for a long unbridgeable gap between the way Tamarians and other humanoid species framed their language, it was still a marvel to Kim that Sharak could speak Federation Standard.
“I have been studying daily several unusual data purges the proctors have made during our work,” Sharak began.
“Lieutenant Conlon mentioned it. Is there anything more you need?” he asked, wondering why it seemed to matter to Sharak.
“No,” Sharak said. “Lieutenant Conlon was most accommodating. I simply wish to show you my findings.”
“Sure,” Kim said.
With a curt nod, the doctor moved to the lab’s main data terminal. As he brought up the file containing his results, the image on the main viewscreen went dark. “Not all of the data purged by the proctors was retrievable,” Doctor Sharak began. Having spent as much time as he had trying to decrypt the wave form’s data process, this did not surprise Kim. “But this is an aggregation of images from the first week.”
Kim watched the grainy display proceed. He recognized much of it. Sensor readings and visual images taken from the starships and shuttles that had facilitated the proctor’s work were intercut with older images that could only have come from Voyager or Demeter’s databases. They appeared quite random. But the confluence of old data with current data was odd, and Kim had no idea what to make of it.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Kim finally admitted. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here.”
“Our first efforts on the planet were somewhat destructive in nature, were they not?” Sharak asked.
Kim nodded. “In a way. A lot of areas had to be cleared in preparation for seeding, and the progress of some of the more aggressive life-forms had to be curtailed.”
Doctor Sharak paused the visual feed on an image of the Planck as it exploded in space. The question sprang immediately to Kim’s mind: Why would the wave forms have saved that image, or purged it?
“They understood,” Doctor Sharak said in answer to his unspoken question. “They knew what we were doing and expressed their understanding in terms they thought we would recognize.”
The notion was so shocking it took Kim a moment to process it.
“These came later,” Sharak continued, opening another file. Suddenly the images of life-forms on the planet roaming peacefully in their new habitats and finding nourishment were interspersed with images Kim understood: the “mother” of the Children of the Storm as he had last seen her, glowing white and shooting new and vibrant thoughts from her atmosphere.
Chills coursed over Kim’s entire body
.
“These came yesterday,” Sharak continued.
Kim’s heart stilled. The planet—as it now appeared, vibrant and lush—was intercut with the memorial service, when the white disc had exploded into being above the field at Federation Park and then slowly descended to rest in its ceremonial dish.
“Their thoughts are not like ours. They don’t have words. They have data. But they clearly assign meaning to that data and can correctly interpret the correlation. They have mourned as we have mourned,” Sharak said softly. “They are renewed as we are renewed by our efforts here.” When Kim did not immediately reply, Sharak asked, “Do you not see?”
Kim turned to the nearly empty room. The person the lieutenant required, however, was still present.
“Captain!” Kim shouted.
The fleet had been set to depart for a series of coordinates almost twenty thousand light-years from their current position. The coordinates would put them within range of their subspace relays and allow them to transmit their latest reports and receive updated orders from Starfleet. Eager as Chakotay was to make that journey, he immediately agreed to extend their stay in the wave form’s system. He wanted to find out if Doctor Sharak’s theory was correct. Chakotay would have had second thoughts had Seven not demonstrated marked improvement since she began using the neural inhibitor. It would be a little longer until they might learn something about Axum, but she was no longer suffering daily torments.
All available personnel set aside everything else to pore over the data purges. More eyes discovered that individual proctors chose different images to express their understanding of the work they had been assigned. However, in every case, that understanding reflected in some way on their task.
Doctor Sharak was invaluable to this work. Where most could take an educated guess at the links between actions and images, the Tamarian could immediately grasp the essence of an image and translate it. Chakotay quickly realized that the data being returned was communicating more than information. Most often, the words Sharak would find to express the responses were emotional: anger, sadness, fear, distress, hope, or joy. Gratitude was there a few times, which seemed to please Lieutenant Kim inordinately.
Once Chakotay was confident that they had correctly translated all of the images the proctors had sent out, the next question was simple: Could communications be established with the proctors? Despite all their efforts, it soon became clear that any communication they might successfully establish, even now, would likely be incredibly limited.
They had settled on one question to ask of the proctors. As they prepared to open communications with the proctors, no one knew if they could make the wave forms understand that the data they would be receiving required a direct response.
Chakotay sat on the bridge, Commander Paris at his left hand and Doctor Sharak at his right. Counselor Cambridge stood next to the Doctor’s chair. Lieutenant Lasren stood behind Lieutenant Kim at ops; Kim would be handling the transmissions to the proctors. Lieutenant Aubrey had Kim’s post at tactical. Patel was at the bridge science station, Gwyn sat at the helm, and Conlon was on an open channel in engineering. Seven would monitor the attempt from astrometrics.
Commander O’Donnell’s senior staff was at its posts on Demeter’s bridge. Half of Voyager’s viewscreen showed his face, the other, the area of open space that had become the central point for programming the proctors over the last several weeks.
“Lieutenant Kim?” Chakotay asked, eager to be under way.
“We’re ready, sir,” Kim replied.
“Go ahead,” Chakotay ordered.
As Kim harmonized the subspace frequency standard to the proctors, a single wave form gracefully erupted from subspace and held its position, awaiting further data.
Doctor Sharak stared at the monitor in the arm of his chair. The universal translator did not have sufficient data to translate the proctor’s “language” as well as the doctor could. Sharak uttered a soft snort as a series of images began to flash on his screen.
Turning to Doctor Sharak, Chakotay asked, “What are you seeing, Doctor?”
“It is impatient for data,” Sharak replied.
“Let’s not keep it waiting, Harry.”
“Aye, sir.”
The first transmission would be simple: an indication that the ships were prepared to depart. The response was immediate.
“The work is complete,” Sharak translated. “The planet will be sustained.”
“So far so good,” Chakotay said and smiled.
“Wait,” Sharak said, pausing as he studied a new series of images before him.
“What is this?” Sharak asked of Chakotay as he froze an image on his small screen.
“That’s the Delta Flyer trying to extract dilithium from one of the asteroids,” Chakotay said.
“And this?” Sharak asked, indicating a new image.
“The moment when a proctor kept one of the sentries from destroying the Flyer,” Chakotay replied.
“Yes,” Sharak said. “They wish to compensate us for our efforts. Is payment required?” Sharak asked, clearly translating for the proctor.
“Not at all,” Chakotay assured him. “Harry?”
“Transmitting response,” Kim said.
A few moments later Sharak said, “You will not meet with resistance should you choose to proceed.”
“Now they tell us,” O’Donnell quipped from the main viewscreen.
Laughing lightly, Chakotay said, “Harry, our question?”
“Transmitting request now,” Kim answered.
The “request” was simple. It was an image of the fragment of hull containing the words WORLDS OF THE FIRST QUADRANT. Again, the response was immediate.
One destructive image after another filled Sharak’s screen; Chakotay thought he understood the proctor’s answer.
“I don’t think the Worlds of the First Quadrant are too popular around these parts,” the captain offered.
“Wait,” Sharak counseled, “there is more to it than that.”
Chakotay looked up at Kim, who was also studying the response at Lasren’s station.
“Lieutenant Kim,” Doctor Sharak said, “please resend the same transmission.”
“Resending,” Kim replied.
A number of different proctors emerged near the first and began transmitting their own data. It soon became more than Sharak could translate, and Kim took a few minutes to isolate the incoming messages, separating them for easier study.
Finally Sharak said, “They believe it would be dangerous for us to contact these ‘Worlds.’ They view them as hostile and aggressive. They are not like us.”
“They don’t know us very well,” Cambridge observed softly.
“Give me a minute,” Kim called from ops.
“What do you propose, Harry?” Paris asked.
“They need to understand why we want to make contact with these worlds,” Kim replied.
“Proceed,” Chakotay ordered.
After a few silent minutes, Kim said, “I’ve sent a new transmission containing data from several first contacts we’ve made.”
“Did you tell them about the Tarkons?” Paris asked, obviously teasing.
“Captain,” Aubrey called from tactical, “the proctor is approaching. A second proctor is moving to intercept Demeter.”
“We’ll be all right, Chakotay,” O’Donnell counseled calmly. “They’re not going to hurt us now.”
“Harry?” Chakotay asked.
“I don’t know, sir. Their previous scans haven’t done any damage. Maybe they think they need more information than I’m giving them.”
“They think we need more information,” Sharak corrected him softly.
“The proctor has surrounded the ship,” Aubrey advised.
Chakotay was about to order O’Donnell to prepare countermeasures should they prove necessary when communications with Demeter were lost.
“Everybody remain calm,” Chakotay ordered. “This will be over in
a few seconds.”
“Scan in progress,” Kim began, but then fell silent.
The tingling sensation Chakotay associated with the proctor’s previous scan began but did not pass. Instead it intensified, along with a dull throbbing at the base of his neck.
Then the assault began.
Chapter Twenty-two
INDIANA
The last few days had been busier than any Janeway had experienced during her liberty. Apart from the numerous updates on the Vesta’s progress and recalling of all personnel from the Quirinal, Esquiline, Hawking, and Curie who had been assigned to the Vesta, and canceling the leaves of Galen’s crew; there were numerous personal matters to be settled.
She had labored over a response to T’Pel’s message. Ultimately, Janeway had opted for a short one that communicated her understanding of Tuvok’s wishes and her assurances that whenever he wanted to speak with her, she would be available.
A longer message had been sent to Julia Paris. Janeway had already filed a brief with the court regarding the custody issue, but she chose to make one final appeal to Julia. She did not believe it would be received in the spirit it had been intended, but her love for the entire Paris family, Julia included, demanded that she make the effort.
Janeway had chosen not to monogram the blanket for René Picard. Instead, she’d had TO A YOUNG EXPLORER embroidered on it. The card that accompanied it had simply read FROM A VOYAGER.
There was time for a final visit with Mark Johnson. Over coffee in a local café they had once frequented, Janeway had expressed her gratitude to him for personally informing Chakotay of her death. Mark had promised that the next time someone told him that Kathryn Janeway was dead, he was going to laugh in his face. She’d teased him that the third time might be the charm on that one, but he’d said he refused to believe it.
Finally, Janeway had sat down and composed a lengthy message to Phoebe. She had been invited over several times, but even on Janeway’s last night, her sister did not make an appearance. Janeway had known she wouldn’t. She knew too well the pain her sister refused to release. In her message Janeway suggested that Phoebe speak with Counselor Austen. Though Phoebe was not Starfleet, as a family member, she had the option of availing herself of Starfleet Medical’s services, and Austen had said she would be pleased to speak with Phoebe were she so inclined. Whatever she chose, Kathryn had assured Phoebe of her understanding, love, and acceptance.
Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors Page 30
