“Then what is it, Miss Seven?” Kim shot back, choosing the mode of address only Doctor Sharak ever used sincerely in Seven’s presence.
Seven turned her back to him and reset the main viewscreen. Devastation was replaced by the only slightly less chaotic image of the system in which the fleet was now ensconced.
“My initial analysis of the system has yielded several interesting facts,” Seven began, “the most significant of which concerns the orbital pattern of the binaries.”
Kim stepped up to stand beside Seven at the data panel. “Okay.”
“The secondary star’s orbit is most irregular. The barycenter is located just within the mass of the primary star, creating a distinct wobble.”
“Uh-huh.”
Seven looked to Kim, clearly disappointed.
“That’s hardly an unprecedented discovery, Seven.”
“Not in and of itself,” Seven agreed. “But the presence and composition of the small asteroid belt surrounding the B star indicates a cataclysmic event sometime in the last fifty thousand years or so.”
“Based upon what assumptions were you able to calculate that number?”
“Based upon an extrapolation of Starfleet’s stellar cartographic database.”
“We don’t have detailed star charts for this area of space going back two decades, let alone fifty thousand years.”
“I might have modified them using my recollection of some of the Borg’s charts of this area.”
“That you pulled from memory?”
“And some of the data nodes that we discovered on the Raven.”
“You still have those?”
“I integrated them into my personal database several years ago. When I joined the fleet, I made sure those files were added to Voyager’s.”
Kim had to hand it to her. The woman was nothing if not thorough. “And you think that cataclysm was the arrival of the smaller star?”
“I do.”
Kim shook his head in disbelief. “How and from where?”
“That is what I am attempting to extrapolate.”
“Seriously?”
Seven looked offended that Kim would even question her sincerity. “Yes.”
“We’ve observed our fair share of rogue comets, planetoids, even planets in our explorations, Seven, but what are the odds a star goes rogue inside our galaxy?”
“One in six thousand trillion, one hundred ninety-two billion—”
Kim cut her off. “So not large?”
“The vast majority of rogue stars exist between galaxies and galactic clusters. But that does not make it impossible,” Seven insisted.
“Just improbable. More to the point, why does it matter? At best this is an interesting theory. You’re not going to be able to prove beyond any doubt that the secondary star originated outside this system.”
“Would you care to wager on that?” Seven asked.
Kim’s jaw dropped. “You have officially spent too much time with Tom Paris,” he said.
“Is that a no?”
Kim crossed his arms. “Okay, I’ll bite. How are you going to prove this theory?”
“I’m going to allow this simulation to run continuously until a trajectory can be found that would result in the destruction of enough planets to result in the concentration of asteroids found in the B star’s belt and current orbits of the remaining planets. While it does so, I’m going to take a shuttle into that belt and collect some samples. If we are ever going to determine how DK-1116 came to be where and what it is, we are going to have to understand how this system was created.”
“Not alone, you aren’t.”
“Every other member of this crew is either at their post, on the surface, or preparing to go to the surface.”
“Take Gwyn.”
Seven sighed. “I’d really rather not.”
“She’s our best pilot short of Tom Paris. She’ll get you there and back in no time.”
“I expect the mission to collect all we need might take several days. I would hate for Gwyn to miss her rotation on shore leave.”
“You can have her for two days. She got pulled from the first away team for medical reasons.”
“She’s ill?”
“No. Doctor Sharak needed her for something, so we had to rearrange the schedule at the last minute. She’s fine. In fact, this will be a nice distraction for her while she’s waiting her turn.”
“Are there any other pilots available?”
Kim searched his memory. “Gleez.”
“If you insist, I’ll take Gwyn,” Seven said, resigned. “She is intemperate, but competent.”
“Gleez is competent.”
“As long as we’re in orbit.”
Kim would have been insulted on poor Gleez’s behalf if Seven hadn’t had a point. “Perhaps some time alone with you would do him good. He might benefit from a little training while you’re out there in the asteroid belt collecting your samples.”
“You do realize that you can’t order me to take anyone with me.”
“That’s true. But I can deny your request to use a shuttle.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“But I can. Come on, Seven, it’s a safety issue and you know it.” Kim’s eyes narrowed, daring her to defy him.
“Very well,” Seven said, knowing when she was beaten.
“Very well, what?”
Her face lost all traces of amusement. “Very well, Captain.”
VESTA
Ensign Aytar Gwyn stared at Doctor Sal’s face wondering why when the doctor spoke, all she heard was her mother’s voice asking the same question.
“The first what?” Gwyn asked.
“What was the first day of your last cycle?” her mother repeated, all the while wearing Sal’s face.
A sick pit knotted itself in Gwyn’s stomach. It had been a little more than a week. Since then she’d shared her bed twice with Ensign Gary Blond. He was one of the fleet’s recent additions—a stellar cartographer, maybe . . . no, an airponics engineer—she couldn’t honestly remember. Gwyn never chose her partners for their professional skills or conversational abilities. In most cases, all she required was a reasonably satisfying way to pass the time. Both times she had taken appropriate protective measures. Neither encounter had been particularly earth-shattering. For a horrifying moment the rest of her life as Mrs. Ensign Gary Blond played out in slow motion.
She remembered well the first time she’d lived this particular nightmare. Her final year of second-tier studies had just been completed. Three of her best friends had already applied to Starfleet Academy and been accepted. Despite being their intellectual peer, Gwyn had never shown the slightest interest or inclination to pursue that path. She honestly had no idea what she might do with the rest of her life, but on Krios, as on any other Federation world, the only limits placed on possibility were in her imagination.
The only thing she knew for sure was that whatever she ended up doing, it would be in close proximity to Jerrik Laor. She didn’t remember a time when they hadn’t known each other. She’d been too young to create long-term memories when they’d first started playing together. As they grew, always attending the same local tiers, they’d been more or less close as their emotional and physical development dictated. She had plenty of memories of the awkward years in mid-tier when they’d known they were friends but weren’t allowed to show it for fear of merciless teasing from their friends. Jerrik and Aytar, hand in hand, down by the creek bed kissing in the sand. She could still hear the singsong torments only children of a certain age found amusing. Finally, when second-tier began, it was suddenly socially acceptable to start pairing off, if not mandatory in order to maintain social status.
And so they had. For three years, off and on, they’d been the closest and most envied couple among their friends. They’d done everything first, including the normal explorations that inevitably led to sex. Everyone knew, especially Aytar and Jerrik, that they were going to spend the rest of t
heir lives together.
That certainty remained until the moment, not long after their commencement ceremonies, while they were both still gripped by the heady intoxication of total freedom absent any real responsibilities, when Aytar realized that she’d missed a cycle. She’d never really bothered to keep track, but it didn’t matter. The math hadn’t alerted her to the potential problem. Something else had. It was hard to describe, especially to anyone who wasn’t Kriosian. It was a sudden awareness, one morning over breakfast, that she wasn’t alone in her body. Another presence had joined her in the night. It wasn’t exactly frightening. It felt normal, in the most abnormal way possible.
It had also apparently been written all over her face, because the split second her eyes locked with her mother’s, Vara Gwyn’s face had set in hard lines. Her mother had pulled Aytar into her bedchamber and demanded to know what had been the first day of her last cycle.
There were worlds in the Federation where an event like this wouldn’t have meant the end of Aytar’s life as she’d always known it. Girls and women her age and older, when confronted with an unplanned pregnancy, might have chosen whether or not to bear the child without fear of social repercussions or familial pressures.
Technically, this was also true on Krios. It was considered a fundamental protection of all Federation citizens. It just didn’t matter on Krios. No one blessed with a child on Gwyn’s homeworld was permitted to do anything other than bear it and raise it. It was partly an issue of faith in the everlasting plan of the universe and partly a social obligation. Birth rates among Kriosians had plummeted in the last few centuries and healthy children were the only thing standing between these proud people and their demise as a species.
Her mother had asked and Gwyn had known full well that the answer meant that there were no longer any choices about how she would spend the rest of her life. She and Jerrik would be sealed in the local Degnar tower, and from that day forward, her life would be forever intertwined with his. Even without the benefit of the rare metamorphic empathy a fraction of Kriosians possessed, society would demand that they become each other’s perfect mates and devote themselves entirely to the new life they had created.
And young Aytar Gwyn had known beyond doubt that in that life, she would die of boredom. In an instant, the only person she had ever considered spending the rest of her life with became a densely woven herrada cord binding her irrevocably to a life she could not imagine living.
She hadn’t needed to share these thoughts with her mother. As with every thought Aytar Gwyn ever had, her mother had read them clearly in her eyes. She’d returned to the kitchen and prepared tea for her. Aytar hadn’t been thirsty, but her mother had insisted she drink. For two weeks, the same tea greeted her each morning at breakfast. At dawn, fourteen miserable days later, Aytar had begun to bleed.
Neither she nor her mother had ever spoken of the relief Aytar felt. They had never spoken of the crime against nature Vara had committed in the interest of her only daughter’s future happiness or how her mother had known the recipe for ending an unwanted pregnancy. The only comment her mother had made that morning as Aytar lay in her bed, her lower abdomen tensing with the most painful cramps she had ever felt, was, “Never again, my child.”
Aytar had understood. This had been a gift of sorts. Her life had been restored to her. But the next time she missed a cycle, she would be expected to fulfill her obligations to her family and her people.
After that, Aytar had become possessed by a single notion. She had to leave Krios. She had to create a life for herself beyond the narrow borders limiting most of those who grew to adulthood on her homeworld. She had to find her own freedom.
The following year she tested for Starfleet Academy and was accepted. When Gwyn left, she’d never looked back.
The experience hadn’t soured her on enjoying physical intimacy with anyone except Jerrik. If anything, it had increased her appetites. Freedom from her people’s traditions wasn’t simply a matter of geography. It was internal as well. She had learned to be careful and as long as she was careful, she could taste of every conceivable physical delight without fear.
The terror of this moment was in realizing with Sal’s question that the life she had cherished for the last six years might have just come to an abrupt and irrevocable end. She had no sense that she was not alone in her body, but it might simply be too soon for that.
“Um,” Gwyn muttered. “A little over a week, maybe.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Gwyn did the mental math. “Twelve days.”
Sal released a sigh that sounded like relief. “That explains it.”
Gwyn was afraid to ask what that was or what it explained. All she could think of were the vials of blood Sal had taken two days prior and the tests she must have performed on them.
“I’m going to need a few more samples of your blood, Ensign,” Sal finally said, “if that’s all right with you.”
“Why?” Gwyn whispered.
“The cells I extracted showed evidence of the genetic sequences I need to cure the patient I told you about. But in the absence of certain hormones, the genes I require remain dormant.”
“So, I’m not . . .” Gwyn began.
“Not what?”
“Pregnant,” Gwyn asked.
Sal chuckled. The gruff cackle was the most beautiful sound Gwyn had ever heard.
“Of course not. I didn’t know that was a concern.”
Gwyn shook her head. “It isn’t. I just couldn’t imagine why you would need to know . . .”
“Apologies,” Sal said warmly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve worked with Kriosian tissue. I actually visited your homeworld thirty years ago, well before you were born. I made certain assumptions based on my prior experience, primarily that I could activate the necessary genes by using synthetic hormones to mimic the precise blood chemistry required. It turns out I can’t. You’re the only one who can do that, but the good news is, your body does it naturally every thirty-six days as you move through a normal cycle. So we have a couple of choices. Assuming you’re still willing to help me, we can wait another twelve days until the necessary hormonal changes occur naturally within your body, or I can give you an injection that will induce the changes now, and you can give me another few vials of blood day after tomorrow.”
Gwyn considered the alternatives. “Does it matter for your patient?”
Sal nodded somberly. “Actually, it does. Every day that goes by is another day of damage done to her body. I hate to wait, but if you’re not comfortable with the idea of the injection, that’s okay. It’s not unlike some of the synthetic compounds we use for annual injections to repress your cycle. There won’t be any side effects beyond shortening the length of this one. It will end a few weeks early. But that happens normally in a woman’s body every so often.”
“Her?” Gwyn asked.
Sal paused. Her face shut down like a room where the lights have just been turned off.
“It’s Lieutenant Conlon, isn’t it?” Gwyn asked.
“Does it matter?”
Gwyn turned away. Everyone on Voyager knew that Conlon had taken a medical leave. Everyone knew that at roughly the same time, Lieutenant Kim had gone from being one of the more approachable and generous senior officers to busting the balls of anyone who stepped even a hair out of line. Even with her mild and intermittent natural empathic abilities, Gwyn could feel the tense, sick knot he carried in his stomach wherever he went these days. It wasn’t hard to connect those dots.
Gwyn didn’t need to know the specifics. Sal had been right about one thing. Voyager, this fleet, had become a new sort of family to Gwyn. They had replaced the one she’d left behind on Krios. She didn’t need it to be a permanent situation; in fact, she knew it wouldn’t be. Very few Starfleet careers ended on the same ship where they’d begun. But that didn’t change what it was now, or Gwyn’s appreciation for the tenuous bonds that bound them all. She thought of Patel and her
naked envy of the particular closeness of their ship’s senior officers. Gwyn had never felt the same need to share in that unique comradery, but she also took comfort in its existence. Anything that threatened them, threatened the whole ship. It was little enough Gwyn could do to try and make the lives of her fellow officers a little easier.
“It doesn’t,” Gwyn finally said. “But it’s nice to know whom I’m helping.”
“I can’t confirm,” Sal began.
“You don’t need to,” Gwyn insisted. “I’m scheduled to pilot a shuttle for Seven over the next few days, so go ahead. Let’s do this now.”
Relief washed over Sal’s face. Behind it, something else stirred. Gwyn could not say for certain. She didn’t have her mother’s deep empathic abilities. Still, Gwyn was suddenly conscious that while everything Sal had just told her was true, there was a great deal the doctor wasn’t saying.
DK-1116
Biodome 10 was almost ready to start receiving the first groups of crew members on shore-leave rotations. The lake, as Commander Tom Paris had taken to calling the vast still pool of water at its center, was crystal clear and by some unknown mechanism maintained a temperature just below that of a normal human body. It was as close as Paris had come to a natural hot spring since his family had toured Yellowstone when he was twelve. A narrow white beach composed primarily of silica edged the water all around. The floor was a gentle slope that bottomed out around two kilometers. Beyond the beach to the southeast was a wide plain covered with silky grass. To the north the “forest” began. The tall, metallic braided poles branched out like massive oaks near the tops, giving way to wide, flat tendrils, some of which were small enough to look more like platinum leaves. They were warm to the touch, but not too hot. Beneath them, a wider variety of flora bloomed, most in dark blues and grays. Patches of tall white fronds were interspersed. These were the only “hostile” life-form, in that any bits that brushed against a black uniform tended to cling mercilessly to the fabric, becoming quite sticky. Paris had already decided that the pants he’d worn for the first several hours of preparation were unsalvageable and would have to be recycled.
Architects of Infinity Page 13
