Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors

by Kirsten Beyer

  Chapter Twenty-three

  VOYAGER

  It could have been hours, but the ship’s chronometer reported it was less than ten minutes when Harry Kim returned to consciousness, lying on Voyager’s bridge. He took a quick physical inventory to assure himself that he was still in one piece. He assumed that the pounding in his head would diminish as normal blood flow was restored to it.

  Looking around the bridge, Kim saw that everyone had been affected as he had. It was written on every face; relief, horror, and shock overwhelmed them. Seated beside the captain, Doctor Sharak was weeping softly.

  “Status?” Chakotay called, breaking the silence.

  “The proctors have retreated to subspace, sir,” Aubrey reported.

  “All departments are reporting status nominal,” Kim advised from ops. “No injuries. No damage sustained.”

  “Demeter is hailing us,” Lasren advised from over Kim’s shoulder.

  “Onscreen,” Chakotay ordered.

  One look at O’Donnell’s face confirmed that Demeter had experienced the same thing.

  “Everybody there okay?” O’Donnell asked.

  “We’re fine,” Chakotay said.

  “Those people . . .” O’Donnell began but obviously found it difficult to continue.

  “Let’s bear in mind that we’ve only seen the proctor’s side of the story,” Chakotay said.

  “You think there’s another side worth hearing?” O’Donnell asked.

  “There usually is,” Chakotay said.

  Kim understood O’Donnell’s disgust. What the proctors had just shown them was one of the most wanton, egregious abuses of nature Kim had ever witnessed.

  How the World ships had arrived, the proctors did not know. There were dozens present by the time the proctors had been created from the Ark Planet technology. From birth, they were slaves to the will of the World ships, and for a very long time had moved through several star systems, ripping one planet after another to shreds.

  Initially the destruction of life did not trouble the proctors. Life had no distinct meaning for them. Eventually, the proctors were used to transport individuals among World ships, and the impressions left by direct contact with life-forms had created an awareness of life as something distinct and precious among the proctors.

  The proctors now understood that when they destroyed local planets as ordered, they were destroying life as well, and that troubled them. They tried to rebel. They did not succeed. World after world was destroyed, and countless wave forms were birthed to carry the materials ripped from them to the waiting ships.

  The proctors finally achieved a small act of defiance. A new world was targeted for destruction. Billions of life-forms would be lost. The proctors understood these life-forms to be victims, like them. Several proctors broke free long enough to rescue some of the life-forms and move them to the only safe world they knew existed, the Ark Planet. This confused the World ships, but eager for their work to continue, the life-forms aboard did not interfere until the proctors had saved as many as possible. This process was repeated on every subsequent planet the proctors were programmed to destroy.

  When the World ships had taken all they could, they prepared to move on. New wave forms were constructed—the sentries. Their programming was singular: hide the space the World ships had plundered and destroy anything that trespassed. Finally all evidence of the World ships’ technology was taken from the Ark Planet and the ships departed.

  Kim had known that many planets had been destroyed in this area. Living that destruction from the proctors’ point of view transformed it from an intellectual exercise into a shared holocaust. But it was also clear that the people of the “Worlds of the First Quadrant,” at least two distinct alien races, required the resources they had taken. By the time the ships departed, there were hundreds, not dozens. They had used what they had forced the proctors to take to build, or rebuild, their civilization. Lifted from the World ship’s data banks by the proctors were images of alien worlds filled with life that had been the beneficiaries of this space’s unwitting generosity.

  The coordinates of that system were imprinted on Kim’s mind as clearly as the images of the destruction the World ships had wrought.

  Kim wished he didn’t know any of this. It would have been easier to move on thinking they had done some good. That good was tainted now. While they had aided the wave forms tremendously and brought them a measure of solace, what was the point? Someone else could easily come along and undo what little good the Starfleet crews had accomplished or simply destroy the Ark Planet on a whim.

  Was there any possible justification for the actions of these “Worlds”?

  For the first time since the mission had begun, Kim wished he had kept his mouth shut during the initial briefing two months ago. He could have lived the rest of his life without knowing the truth the proctors had just revealed to him.

  Every fiber of Chakotay’s being screamed for justice. He wanted, no, he needed to confront these people with their transgression. Those who had achieved the ability to travel through space usually, but not always, did so with a certain amount of humility. Few in the history of space exploration had been so thoughtless or greedy; the Borg came to mind.

  As much as he might want to, confrontation was not an option. Voyager and Demeter would not survive an encounter against the forces of the Worlds. Chakotay knew it was absurd to think they’d be disconcerted by an alien federation’s moral outrage. There was always a chance that in the years that had passed since the World ships departed, they had met someone else’s justice, but it was also possible that they had continued on their wanton path of death and destruction.

  “Captain, if I may?” Fife asked from Demeter.

  “Yes, Commander,” Chakotay said.

  “Our mission parameters clearly state that we are to investigate all potential threats to the Federation. The Worlds of the First Quadrant are surely one,” Fife stated.

  “We can’t go in with phasers blazing,” Chakotay said. “As much as I’d personally like to.”

  “We could listen to their side of the story first,” O’Donnell suggested.

  “And then we open fire?” Paris whispered to his captain.

  “Commander Fife has a point,” Chakotay replied. “It is certainly in the Federation’s interest that we investigate this civilization.”

  “I’m not sure that ‘civilization’ applies here,” O’Donnell noted.

  “What we all just saw was the work of individuals who lived several hundred years ago,” Chakotay said, reining in his anger. “Any representatives of these Worlds we would encounter today are not directly responsible for these acts. But,” he continued, “it would be foolhardy to risk making contact. We will set course for our previously designated rendezvous point and report our findings to Starfleet Command.”

  “I agree,” O’Donnell replied.

  “Ensign Gwyn, set coordinates for our previous rendezvous point, and bring the slipstream drive online,” Chakotay ordered.

  “We’ll see you on the other side, Captain. Demeter out,” O’Donnell said.

  The faint ambient light offered by the stars present on the main viewscreen vanished.

  “Ensign Gwyn, belay my last order,” Chakotay said immediately. “Harry, what just happened?”

  “The cloaking matrix has just been restored, sir,” Kim said.

  “Why?” Chakotay asked, turning to Doctor Sharak.

  “Sir,” Aubrey reported, “long-range sensors are detecting two vessels. . . . No, make that five vessels approaching the nearest border of the cloak.”

  “Where did they come from?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Aubrey said.

  “Seven to Captain Chakotay.”

  Hoping for a better answer, Chakotay replied, “Go ahead, Seven.”

  “Thirty seconds ago, a previously undetected subspace aperture opened approximately five million kilometers from the border of the cloak. The incoming vessels exited
the aperture and are on an intercept course,” Seven reported. “At present speed they will reach us in four minutes, forty seconds.”

  “Can we use the data astrometrics has already gathered to plot a safe slipstream jump from our present location?” Chakotay asked.

  “I would not advise it, Captain,” Seven said.

  “Nor would I,” Conlon concurred from engineering.

  “Can we safely exit the cloaked area at maximum warp and avoid these vessels?” Chakotay asked.

  “Only by traveling toward them,” Seven said. “Our previous scans of this sector are not precise enough to safely navigate at warp speed as long as the cloak is operational.”

  “We didn’t explore enough of the rest of this parsec once we focused our efforts on the Ark Planet,” Paris advised. “We can’t run away from them at warp either.”

  “Red alert. All hands to battle stations,” Chakotay ordered. “Harry, are they World ships?”

  “Their configuration does not match anything we just saw, but that doesn’t mean they . . . wait . . .” Kim said as he resumed tactical from Aubrey.

  “Lieutenant,” Chakotay barked.

  “Our database has identified a single vessel,” Kim reported. “Turei.”

  “Turei?” Chakotay asked in disbelief.

  “I have a second match now, Captain,” Kim continued.

  “Who?” Chakotay demanded.

  “Two of the ships are Vaadwaur,” Kim said.

  “That can’t be right,” Paris said.

  “Can you confirm Turei and Vaadwaur life signs on those vessels?” Chakotay asked.

  “No, sir,” Kim said.

  Chakotay turned to Paris. “We know the Turei traveled using subspace corridors that once were claimed by the Vaadwaur. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that one of those corridors terminates at the border of the cloak. But what are they doing here?”

  “The better question is why are they working together?” Paris said. “The last time we encountered them, they almost destroyed us trying to kill each other.”

  “We can identify three out of five ships. If the other two are World ships, maybe they’ve formed some sort of alliance,” Chakotay ventured.

  “Harry, have they entered the cloaked area yet?” Paris asked.

  “They are fifteen seconds from the border,” Kim said, “maintaining course and speed.”

  “They have to be accompanied by World ships,” Chakotay reasoned. “Otherwise, what makes them think they can safely navigate throught the cloak?”

  “Maybe they don’t know about the cloak and assume they are entering a void,” Paris said.

  “They are not accompanied by World ships,” Kim reported.

  “How do you know?” Chakotay asked.

  “The sentries are attacking all five vessels,” Kim replied.

  “On screen,” Chakotay ordered. “And open an encrypted channel to Demeter.”

  For a minute, it looked like the new arrivals had made a terrible mistake by entering the cloaked area. The sentries took them unawares. They were forced out of warp as their proximity to the wave forms disrupted their fields. The sentries attacked en masse, ripping at the alien vessels’ hulls but failing to do severe damage.

  “Captain Chakotay,” O’Donnell said as Chakotay watched the approaching vessels begin their attack on the sentries. The red-alert klaxons blaring on Demeter’s bridge were added to the sound of Voyager’s, and in the interest of maintaining sanity, Chakotay ordered his silenced.

  “We need to get out of here,” Chakotay said.

  “No argument, but where?” O’Donnell asked.

  “We can navigate through the area at impulse. Set course one-nine-eight-mark-six and stay with us. We’re going to put as much distance as possible between us and those ships. If the sentries don’t finish them . . .”

  But Chakotay could see that the ships had come with countermeasures prepared for the sentries. Several sentries were being disrupted by some sort of directed energy weapon. New sentries emerged to continue the attacks, but they were quickly becoming little more than a nuisance.

  “They’ll be back on course in a few minutes,” Paris estimated.

  “If the sentries keep it up, it’ll slow them down some,” Chakotay countered. “Helm, engage,” he ordered.

  “When they arrive, I’m assuming you’ll do the talking?” O’Donnell asked, after ordering Demeter to follow.

  “Voyager encountered two of these species before, but neither contact ended on friendly terms. I don’t know if they’re here for us. But even if they aren’t, they’re not going to be happy to see us.”

  “Understood,” O’Donnell said. “Mister Fife, you have the bridge,” he ordered.

  “If we are forced to engage, Commander Fife . . .” Chakotay began.

  “We’ll do ourselves proud, sir. Don’t worry about Demeter,” Fife said.

  “One of the alien vessels will be in range in less than thirty seconds,” Kim advised from tactical. “They have adjusted their course to intercept us.”

  “Are they hailing us?” Chakotay said hopefully.

  “No, sir,” Lasren replied.

  “Their weapons are armed,” Kim added.

  “Captain,” Lasren and Jepel said from their respective ops stations aboard both ships.

  “Go ahead, Lasren,” Chakotay said.

  “Two proctors have just emerged from subspace and are approaching our vessels,” Lasren reported.

  “Tell them to back off,” Chakotay ordered, even as the familiar hum of being enveloped by a proctor sounded throughout the bridge.

  “Too late, sir,” Lasren reported.

  “Transmit a message that they must release us,” Chakotay said.

  “Transmitting now,” Lasren replied.

  “Captain,” Gwyn called from the conn, “I’ve lost helm control.”

  A sinking pit opened in Chakotay’s stomach.

  “Kenth?” Chakotay demanded.

  “No response, sir,” Lasren said.

  “We’re moving,” Paris said.

  “The proctor has taken control of the helm, sir,” Gwyn advised.

  “Where are we going?” Chakotay asked.

  Dozens of images flashed over Sharak’s screen. After a moment, he replied, “The proctors want to keep us safe. They think they can evade the hostile ships.”

  “They think?” he asked.

  “The proctors only say that they will make the attempt,” Sharak said. “They feel obligated to try.”

  “I’m not comfortable leaving this in their hands,” Chakotay said.

  “There is the frying pan and then there’s the fire, sir . . .” Cambridge observed softly.

  “What about Demeter?” Chakotay asked, cutting him off.

  “We’ve lost communications, but they are surrounded by a proctor and are matching our course and speed,” Lasren said.

  “With the comm down, we can’t hail the incoming ships, on the off chance this is just a terrible misunderstanding,” Paris noted wryly.

  “Do we still have control of our weapons?” Chakotay asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Kim said. “But firing through the proctor might not be possible.”

  “Can the proctors protect us from enemy fire?” Chakotay asked of Kim.

  “Theoretically, yes,” Kim said.

  “We’re about to test the theory,” Paris noted as the incoming vessel finally came within weapons range and opened fire.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  VESTA

  At Admiral Janeway’s request, the Vesta’s reconfigured conference room had been designed to accommodate several meetings at once. There was a large oval table that ran along the room’s far wall, beneath a bank of rectangular windows. It housed the newest holographic imaging displays at its center. Individual personal data screens also could be accessed at each of the twelve seats the table could comfortably hold.

  There were also three smaller tables, each of which could seat up to six. It w
as a lot of space to designate for briefings, but Janeway had come to think of each of the four ships in her fleet as part of something greater. She could envision many times when representatives from each vessel might need to convene to discuss and exchange data, both in small groups, or as a large collection of officers.

  Her first meeting in the briefing room consisted of only five officers; they sat at the room’s large table where a three-dimensional display of the damaged relays was now visible.

  Janeway sat at the table’s head, along with Captain Farkas and Vesta’s chief engineer, Lieutenant Bryce. Commander Glenn and Lieutenant Barclay had joined them from the Galen.

  Farkas had briefed Janeway regarding Lieutenant Vorik. He’d had seniority and would have been assigned as Vesta’s chief engineer. Vorik had refused to state a preference when asked directly if he would accept that post. “He would serve where Starfleet ordered him to serve,” were his exact words. It was obvious to Farkas that the Vulcan had no desire to remain with the fleet. Two days prior to launch, Farkas had received Vorik’s official transfer request and had granted it. Farkas had been pleased to have the problem behind her. Janeway had been less so, especially considering the imminent departure of B’Elanna Torres. Vorik might have served as a temporary replacement for fleet chief.

  Captain Farkas had chosen a relatively inexperienced lieutenant, Phinnegan Bryce, as chief engineer. After listening to Bryce’s initial report on the status of the relays, Janeway was more than comfortable with Farkas’s choice. Bryce was young, energetic, and thorough. He possessed a keen and analytical mind. She liked him more the longer he spoke.

  “The damage evident to these three relays is the most severe, but the same damage was done to all thirty-nine that are no longer operational,” Bryce reported. “Initial scans reveal significant traces of ion particles.”

  “Was this a natural phenomenon?” Janeway asked. “An ion storm?”

  “No,” Bryce said. “But it was supposed to look like one.”

  Janeway had been prepared to hear that the relays had been damaged by sabotage, but the news chilled her nonetheless. “The damage we see here would have had to result from six separate ion storms all hitting the relay system at different points and all causing the same kind of damage.