Infinity's Prism

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “Allocated to give the richest of us the largest swaths of land so they may show off how rich they are to have such large swaths of land. They can survive with a little less.”

  “The people will not accept many more reductions to our standard of living in support of these refugees. Already they threaten our social order, show contempt for our laws and our values.”

  Rosh sat back behind his desk. “As I recall, Vitye, your people were among the last to leave the Birthworld. For generations, the Gorenye were scorned as criminals and savages, bringers of disease, threats to the Vostigye way of life.”

  Megon straightened and puffed the crest of stiff red hairs that ran down the middle of her head. “And we rose above that debased state to become true Vostigye, a heritage in which we take justifiable pride. And it is because of that heritage that we can appreciate the true meaning of Vostigye principles and the need to preserve them.”

  “Don’t these refugees deserve the same chance to integrate into our community?”

  “They are not Vostigye.”

  Rosh chuckled. “Your ancestors would’ve been horrified to hear you call yourself that instead of Gorenye. They believed the genetic divide between your ethnic group and mine was insurmountable. For that matter, so did the people who persecuted them.”

  Megon shook her head. “My constituents will not be distracted by history lessons, Overminister. They have had enough of these outsider intrusions. Your speeches about tolerance and decency do not sway them, and you know it. Give in to this Janeway and you lose your mandate.” She gave him a smile that came off more as a sneer. “You should appreciate my generosity in even giving you this warning. Many Preservationists would love to see you cut off your own head this way. But I do not wish to see our standard of living suffer more erosion merely to get you out of office. That will come in its own time.”

  Rosh hid his expression again, for it would be one of defeat. He knew he had to tread gingerly where the Voyagers were concerned. Still, it was the Vostigye way to help those in need, and he would not throw that aside simply because one current political bloc had forgotten it. “I will extend hospitality to Captain Janeway and her crew,” he told Megon, “under the same terms as our policy extends it to any refugees. They may live and work among us, but they must give back to the community just as any Vostigye does. They may attempt to repair their ship, but they must pay for the facilities and resources just as any Vostigye would.”

  Megon appeared somewhat mollified. “And what form would this payment take?”

  “They have considerable experience in research, engineering, and starship operations. They may share that expertise by taking jobs in those fields.”

  “By taking jobs away from skilled Vostigye.”

  “There is always room for more skilled personnel in the space service. There’s a great deal of the galaxy left to explore.”

  Megon’s expression grew calculating. “There is more they can offer us in payment. Some of their technologies are…somewhat more sophisticated than our current state of the art.”

  Rosh nodded, sharing her interest for once. The newcomers were a bit backward in genetics and cybernetics, but possessed faster and more powerful warp drives, reliable teleportation, extraordinarily lifelike photonic-field simulations, and advanced matter replication that put Vostigye synthesis technology to shame. “That is true. However, their captain is proving…resistant on that point. Her people have a directive about sharing technology, it seems.”

  “Hypocritical,” Megon said. “They need our technology to survive. If they can’t understand the virtue of a fair exchange, how can they possibly live among us in a way that preserves the balance of our environment, our community?”

  “They will be made aware of the terms for our assistance,” Rosh assured her. “We will see if they can adapt. If not…” He sighed. “Then I suppose you will get your wish.” To see them cast out to die in the cold of space.

  Megon smiled in triumph. “Thank you, Overminister. You have chosen wisely.”

  Politically, yes, he thought as she strode from the room. But at what cost to my principles?

  “I won’t do it,” Janeway insisted. “There has to be another way.”

  “What way?” Chakotay asked from the couch—if you could call it a couch. Janeway wasn’t quite sure how to describe the furnishings in these temporary accommodations the local government had provided. The Vostigye had an unusual build, their torsos angled forward and their knees bent, not unlike that mustachioed fellow in the Marx Brothers films that Tom Paris enjoyed—had enjoyed. It was easier on the joints and back in their high native gravity. Luckily, Voyager’s crew was being housed in a lower-gravity level of the habitat.

  “If we refuse the Vostigye’s terms,” Chakotay went on, “where do we go? Who else in this region would be as generous to us? The Nezu? The Mikhal? They don’t have the resources. And how would we reach them without Voyager?”

  “You call this generous?” Janeway countered. “Requiring us to serve in their fleet? Demanding our technology in exchange for their help?”

  “They aren’t a replicator-based economy, Kathryn. They still rely on money and trade—they can’t just give resources away. All they’re asking is that we earn our keep. And from some of the rhetoric I’ve heard from the opposition party, the Overminister is going out on a limb offering even that much. I say we take it and be grateful.”

  “I’m not willing to take that step, Chakotay. Voyager may be crippled, but she’s not dead. I was wrong to say that. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still a Starfleet crew, and that means we live by Starfleet principles. I won’t give up the Prime Directive just for our convenience. We’ve lost too much already—we have to hold on to the rest.”

  She gazed out the window, unmoved by the marvel of engineering that was the Vostigye habitat. All she could see, even three weeks after the fact, was the roster of the dead. Tuvok. Tom Paris. Kenneth Dalby. Lyssa Campbell. Chief Clemens. Joe Carey, Vorik, nearly half the engineering department. Jenny Delaney, whose loss had devastated her twin sister, Megan. Mortimer Harren, whom she’d barely even spoken to in three years and now never would again.

  “I’m not convinced this is a Prime Directive situation,” Chakotay said. “These aren’t the Kazon trying to steal our replicators. The Vostigye have just developed differently than we did. They were forced off their planet early by a geological cataclysm, concentrated on building artificial habitats instead of warp drive. They’re behind us in some ways, but they could teach us plenty about environmental engineering and robotics.”

  “Anything we give them could still affect the balance of power in this region.”

  “Like it or not, we’re part of this region now. We no longer have the luxury of pretending the Delta Quadrant is a place we’re just passing through. We’re here for good—or at least for the foreseeable future.”

  “Just as you wanted,” she said, her voice hardening, though she regretted letting the words out.

  Typically, though, Chakotay didn’t rise to the bait. “I never wanted this. But I understand it, Kathryn. As a Maquis, as an Indian, I know what it’s like to be out in the cold without a powerful nation to support you. I know that following your own rules stringently is a luxury of those with the authority to enforce them. When you’re powerless in someone else’s culture, you have to adapt to survive.

  “For three years, we’ve managed to get by without needing to learn that lesson. But now our free ride has ended. We’re at the Vostigye’s mercy. And given what many of their neighbors are like, that’s probably the safest place for us under the circumstances.”

  “But at what cost, Chakotay? They wouldn’t let us stay together as a crew. We’d be scattered across dozens of ships and star systems. What if…” What if we stop thinking of ourselves as a crew? What if some of my people decide they like living here? What if I never see them again?

  She cleared her throat. “And you said it yourself—there’s a l
ot of intolerance toward outsiders.”

  “Only among some segments of the population. They seem numerous because they’re politically vocal and active. But most of the Vostigye I’ve met have been kind, open-minded people. Their values aren’t that different from ours; they just have a few outstanding issues they haven’t settled yet. That’s true even of the Federation,” he reminded her. She knew he was referring to the “issues” that had led to the formation of the Maquis.

  Janeway turned back to the window, hesitant to let him see the sadness, the defeat, in her expression. “If I give in to this, Chakotay…I’m admitting I failed. I’m saying to my crew that I can’t get them home again. If I do that, is there even any point in rebuilding Voyager?”

  She felt his hand on her shoulder, and it soothed even as his words burned. “Don’t see it as a failure, Kathryn. This can be a new beginning for Voyager’s crew. The chance to explore a rich Delta Quadrant society up close, from the inside. The chance to help build a new coalition that can defend against the Borg and Species 8472. Maybe a new community as well.”

  Janeway sighed. What were the chances of building such a coalition if her people had no standing in the region’s society, no ship to offer for its defense? How safe would Vostigye space be in a few months, when the nearby war ended?

  She straightened, firming her resolve. She would have to try, no matter the odds. She was still a Starfleet captain, and she would hold on to that even if she lost everything else. At the very least, she would do what she could to defend these people from invasion.

  But no matter what Chakotay said, these were not her people, and this was not her home. Someday, no matter what it took, she would get Voyager flying again, reassemble her crew, and resume course for the Alpha Quadrant.

  But how many of the crew would join her when the time came?

  Part Two

  August–November 2374

  3

  “Lieutenant Kim, report to command deck.”

  Harry didn’t feel like getting out of bed. He’d woken up early, surprised when he’d rolled over and collided with a warm nude body. His lover usually left well before he woke up. Even in sleep, she was tense and aloof, jabbing him with an elbow and rolling away. But with a little more delicacy, he’d managed to get an arm around her, and eventually she’d relaxed against him. He’d been so content just spooning that he’d lost track of time. He wanted to stay that way forever.

  But there was that title: Lieutenant Kim. True, it was just how his translator rendered the Vostigye rank, but for all practical purposes, he was a lieutenant at last. And he’d worked damn hard to earn it, harder than most because he’d had the “refugee” stigma to overcome. Now he’d gained a position of trust on Ryemaren’s bridge crew, one not unlike his post on Voyager, but with opportunities for advancement he never would have had on that ship. He couldn’t let his captain and colleagues down by blowing off a duty shift.

  So he reluctantly pulled himself away from his lover, taking a moment to admire the deceptively delicate contours of her back, its smoothness so unusual for those of her heritage. Then he went into the ’fresher for a quick sonic shower.

  It came as an even greater surprise when, a moment later, the door opened and she came in. “Mind if I join you?” B’Elanna’s voice was no more expressive than usual, a disinterested monotone barely audible over the shower’s hum, but the gesture itself was extraordinary. He knew full well that she had turned to him merely for comfort, for distraction from her grief at losing Tom Paris before she’d even admitted her love for him. Her lovemaking was hungry, needy, but detached and impersonal, and often he derived more gratification from the belief that he was helping to ease her pain than he did from the sex itself. But Harry accepted it because he needed comfort and distraction as well. Even this tenuous, frustrating thing that he could barely call a relationship was a link to the life he’d known, a reminder of the friendship he and B’Elanna Torres had shared for three years.

  But for B’Elanna to stay the night, even to seek out further intimacy in the morning, was remarkable. As she slipped into the tight shower cubicle and pulled his head down into a kiss, he cursed the timing of it. This could be a breakthrough, and he had to shoot it down, not knowing if it would ever come again. “I’d love to,” he said softly into her ear. “But they need me on the bridge.”

  “Call in sick. Just this once. You’ve earned it by now.”

  “Voenis would kill me. She’d kill both of us if she found out why I skipped school.”

  “I don’t care.”

  That was exactly the problem. Getting B’Elanna to care about most anything seemed a hopeless task. She was lackluster in her duties, insubordinate, and this close to getting kicked out of the Vostigye space service. Harry’s influence was the only thing that kept her in line.

  He kissed her ridged forehead and stepped out of the booth. “I do. About you. I won’t be responsible for getting you in more trouble.”

  “Because Harry Kim always has to do what’s right.”

  The anger was the most expression he’d heard in her voice for some time. It was downright gratifying. “I try my best. But I want to do what’s right for you too. We can talk about it tonight, okay?”

  She gave him a look he couldn’t fathom. “We all try to do what’s right, Harry,” she murmured. “Remember that.”

  Then she closed the shower door and left him with his confusion.

  “Mister Kim, identify the intruder.”

  Harry Kim fed the readings on the unfamiliar ship into Ryemaren’s computer. The answer came back in the Vostigye script and language that he’d mastered over the past six months. “The ship is of unknown origin. But the life signs read as Casciron.”

  “Casciron,” Captain Nagorim muttered in a resigned tone. They were a people Ensign Kim of Voyager had never met, but Lieutenant Kim of the Vostigye border patrol was a veteran of multiple encounters. Their homeworld had fallen prey to the Etanian Order, conquerors who staged natural disasters to drive out or kill off the populations of planets they wanted for their own. Voyager had saved the Nezu from the Etanians last year, but the Casciron had not been so lucky. Like many refugees, they came to the Vostigye Union hoping to benefit from its prosperity, strength, and legal protections, only to find that earning those protections could be…complicated. Especially in the Casciron’s case.

  Nagorim opened a channel. “Casciron vessel, this is Captain Azorav Nagorim of the Union patrol craft Ryemaren. You are violating Vostigye space. Power down your engines and await inspection.” His tone was firm but devoid of malice.

  A Casciron appeared on the round viewscreen—tall, intimidating, with deep gray, glossy skin that reminded Harry of a shark. “Vostigye vessel. We are here by accident. We seek the nearest border outpost to request entry through proper channels. But our navigation system failed.”

  “What a novel excuse,” muttered Morikei Voenis, Nagorim’s first officer, a russet-furred female who had little patience with refugees.

  “Casciron do not deceive!” the alien shot back. “We may have no world, but we have our pride.”

  “Tell that to the Vostigye whose habitats have been raided by your pirates!”

  “From what I’m reading, Captain,” Harry said, “their sensors and computers are in pretty bad shape. I doubt they could navigate except by looking out a window. And that K-class—sorry, Mol-class star they’re aimed for is a near-perfect match for the star the border outpost orbits. They could’ve made an honest mistake.” Voenis glared at him. He had earned her grudging respect through months of skilled service, even saved her life at Calentar, but she still disliked being undermined on the command deck—at least by a refugee. Harry had hoped she had outgrown seeing him that way, but it seemed he still had more work to do.

  “If you would inspect us, then proceed. We have nothing to hide, and little time to spare.”

  “You don’t have much life support, either,” Harry said. “And your engines are falling
apart. You won’t make it much farther.”

  “Mind your place, Lieutenant,” Voenis told him.

  “Voenis,” the captain cautioned. “Casciron ship, we must board you for inspection and escort you to the border outpost for processing. If all is in order, we will assist you in repairing your life-support systems.”

  “It seems we have little choice.” The Casciron bowed formally. “You are invited to visit our territory.”

  “Their territory,” Voenis scoffed.

  “Mister Kim, would you like to lead the boarding party?” Nagorim asked.

  “Aye, sir. Request that the AMP and…and Ensign Torres accompany me.”

  Nagorim threw him an amused look. “Now, Harry. You know ship’s policy about favoritism.”

  Harry blushed. “It’s not that, sir. Their power systems employ chromodynamic plasma technology. I happen to know that Ensign Torres has extensive firsthand experience with that technology.” Strictly speaking, she had only encountered it once, during her abduction by the Pralor Automated Personnel Units over two years ago. But those circumstances had demanded that she become an expert in record time. And it couldn’t hurt to pad her résumé a little, Harry thought.

  “Very well,” Nagorim said. “Assemble your team.”

  “I should lead the team, sir,” Voenis said.

  “Your reasons?” Nagorim asked.

  “The team leader should have experience dealing with the Casciron in person, not from behind a console.”

  The captain gave Harry an infinitesimal look of apology. “Very well. Report for teleportation.”

  Voenis led Harry from the command deck and through Ryemaren’s upward-curving corridors. The Vostigye ships were cylindrical, with gravity pulling outward from the central axis, like their habitats in miniature. Even after four months, Harry still felt as if he were living in a giant hamster wheel. At least the gravity came from AG plating instead of the centrifugal effect; the necessary rotation for a ship this small would have been dizzying even for the Vostigye. And mercifully, the gravity was kept below Vostigye standard for the benefit of alien crew.