“Yeah, and Junior too. Not one of my finest moments.”
“There’s a Recovery team waiting to take us back, and from that point our top priority has to be returning to Voyager. We’re dying, Tom.” There was no way to put it other than bluntly. Paris could take it. “We’re not from this universe. We’re in the Shadow universe and our bodies are rebelling, trying to go home a cell at a time.”
Paris stared at him, but Chakotay knew the ensign believed him. “When do you think we’ll be able to leave?”
“You know the Sumar-ka. Any excuse for a party.”
“I was afraid of that. We’ll have to play up your illness, see if we can’t have that farewell dinner tonight.”
Paris grimaced. “We won’t have to play it up all that much.”
* * *
Chakotay had been right. The Sumar-ka were caring people, and they believed Chakotay’s story about returning to his ship. They could see that Paris was ill, could even see signs of weakness in Chakotay. They were left alone in their hut to rest and dress for the ceremony, which would be held after nightfall. Chakotay contacted the Recovery team and informed them of the situation.
Paris hadn’t wanted to sleep, but it came for both him and Chakotay regardless. He woke, hot and sweating, as the twilight shadows were beginning to fill the hut with a soft light. He woke Chakotay and they splashed cool water on their faces and changed into clean robes.
Trima came for them as soon as dark had settled fully. She looked like an incarnation of twilight herself, with her blue skin and purple-gray robes. Her normally poised demeanor was gone, and she looked small and lost inside the formal dress of her office.
“Hi,” said Paris, his voice sounding awkward in his own ears. “I didn’t know you’d come get us.”
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “It is my privilege, as Culil. I have been notified about the Recovery team waiting for you.” She paused, then said, “I will miss you, Tom Paris. It has been good, having someone to confide in.”
“Yeah,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and was acutely aware of Chakotay’s gaze boring into his back.
Trima did something entirely unexpected. She stepped forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. The place where her lips had touched seemed to tingle.
“Let us go,” she said, and just that quickly, she ceased being the insecure Silent One and became Trima, Culil of Sumar-ka, with important duties to perform. His face still burning from her kiss, Paris followed. Chakotay brought up the rear.
The celebration was similar to that with which the Sumar-ka had initiated them into their bosom, except it was more subdued. Paris started feeling slightly unwell again and just wanted the thing to be over with. He was ready to go, Trima had kissed him, dammit, which was a bit of a problem, and he wanted to be gone, to be home with B’Elanna, which was where he knew he belonged.
They came, one by one or in pairs or family units, to say farewell. There were no trinkets or offerings this time; the villagers seemed to know that Paris and Chakotay would not wish to be laden with gifts. The food was delicious, as always, and Paris knew that this was certainly one of the things he would miss most about this place.
Trima sat away from them after she had performed her ritual role. She gleamed in the moonlight, but not like an Ice Princess, not anymore. Paris knew her now, and despite the coolness of her demeanor he knew her great beauty disguised the warm heart of a confused, caring woman. He was going to miss her, too.
At last it was over, and Chakotay rose, as they had agreed he would.
“My people have no wish to disturb the peace of Sumar-ka,” he began. He smiled a little as he added, “Nor do they wish to endure your Ordeal, necessary though we all know it to be.” Answering smiles went around the small circle. “So we shall take our leave now, but we will carry forever in our hearts the memories we have shared with you.”
Paris rose now, too, somewhat unsteadily, and he and Chakotay gave the threefold salute common among the Sumar-ka, touching temples, throat, and abdomen. There was a shuffling sound as every single member of the village rose and did likewise. Then there were no more words. Paris cast a last, quick look at Trima. Surely it was a trick of the moonlight that made her eyes gleam, as if with tears.
They turned and left.
After a few moments, Paris said in a low voice, “I’m going to miss these people.”
“Me too,” Chakotay said. They said nothing more until they met up with the Recovery crew.
“Did it go well? Did they suspect?” The young man who rushed forward to greet them looked slightly familiar to Paris, which he knew was impossible.
“Not a thing,” said Chakotay. “Tom, this is Shamraa Ezbai Remilkansuur. He’s Khala’s brother.”
“That’s why you look familiar,” said Paris. “Khala’s in good hands.”
Ezbai nodded, a rapid movement. “Let’s go. The sooner we get past the no transport zone, the sooner our doctors can begin treating you.”
Paris found himself wishing he’d brought his staff, the lovely one they had made for him when he was ill the last time. It was a shame, really. He knew that whatever pleasure he had found here, he was always going to associate this place with being sick or injured. They hiked for a bit, their going slow in the thick jungle foliage and hampered by lack of light. From time to time they would rest, and then they’d keep going. Tom lost track of how long they had been hiking. It seemed like forever.
Suddenly Ezbai paused. “We’ve lost some people,” he said, glancing around. “Ioni, Kelmor, Travya—”
At that precise moment, Paris’s combadge chirped. He felt himself grow weak, for he knew that signified only one thing.
Trima was in danger.
CHAPTER
14
“CHAIRMAN KALEH,” SAID JANEWAY CRISPLY. “I REMEMBER you from our last encounter.” She had heard Tuvok issue the orders to put up their shields and sound a red alert. “We do not wish to fight you, but—”
“Nor do we wish to fight you,” said Jekri hurriedly, surprising Janeway. “Help us.”
Utterly confused, Janeway opened her mouth to ask more questions when suddenly the reason for the request became clear. Jekri’s image disappeared, replaced by the image of the ships on the screen. One of the warbirds had maneuvered itself between the Talvath and the other warbirds. Now the other three began to open fire: one targeted the warbird protecting the Talvath and the other two swooped in on Voyager.
The ship rocked from the impact. “Harry,” cried Janeway, “any sign of dark matter in those vessels?”
“Not yet, but—there they go.” Sure enough, as he spoke the two attacking warbirds slowly disappeared.
“Target engines and weapons systems, Tuvok. Mr. Kim, get the chairman back.”
“Captain,” said R’Mor.
“Not now, Telek.”
“Captain!” Janeway gave him an angry glance at his direct defiance. Telek barreled on. “You must protect the Talvath! It has the wormhole technology aboard—the Shepherd augmentation of my own efforts. It could be your way home!”
Janeway stared, all the anger suddenly gone. It could be your way home. She had not even considered it. She had been so completely focused on retrieving the dark matter that the fact that Telek, in conjunction with the Shepherds, would know exactly how to send them home, to their proper place and proper time, had simply never come up.
“I’ve got her, Captain,” said Kim, interrupting Janeway’s sudden flood of hopeful thoughts.
“On screen,” ordered Janeway.
Again the image of the chairman of the Tal Shiar filled Voyager’s screen. Before either woman could speak, both ships were attacked by the three hostile warbirds.
“Captain!” cried Jekri, clutching a console in a desperate attempt to keep her balance. “The Para’tar and I seek your assistance! Destroy the other three warbirds!” Although she was beseeching Janeway for a favor, Jekri Kaleh spoke almost as if giving an order
. Janeway opted to ignore the other woman’s attitude. There would be time to hash things out with Kaleh and the commander of the currently friendly warbird once the other three had been subdued.
Jekri was aboard the Talvath, of course, throwing a wrench even deeper into the works. And she and the single warbird who had chosen to protect the little science vessel were as clearly targets of the other ships as was Voyager. It was a puzzle, but Janeway would have time for puzzle solving later. Now she had to act.
“Chairman—”
“No longer,” growled the small woman. Janeway was surprised and suspected a lie, but continued.
“We will attempt to extend our shields to cover your vessel. The Para’tar is too large for such protection, but we will continue to defend it. If you approach at your slowest speed, you should be able to penetrate our shields without forcing us to lower them.”
“At my slowest speed, I shall be dead before I reach your shields!” snapped the Romulan.
Janeway lifted an eyebrow. “Have it your way,” she replied coolly.
The woman at the controls of the Talvath fixed Janeway with a cold, hostile stare that unnerved the captain totally. And that didn’t happen all that often. She could understand why Jekri Kaleh, despite her youth and small stature, had made such a formidable chairman of so dark an organization as the Tal Shiar. But Janeway merely lifted her own chin in a subtle gesture of defiance.
“End communication,” she told Kim. At once, the screen again filled with the image of battling warbirds. The ship rocked and this time the lights flickered briefly. Janeway could smell the acrid scent of burning.
“A direct hit,” said Tuvok in his usual calm voice. “The warp core is offline. We are venting plasma from the starboard nacelle. Injury reports are coming in from decks seven, twelve, fourteen, and ten.”
Janeway heard a sharp intake of breath. It came from the conn, and as her gaze flickered to Ensign Jenkins, she saw that the young woman was clutching a burned hand. Janeway could see bones through strips of blackened flesh.
“Get to sickbay, Jenkins,” Janeway ordered, rising and coming down to the conn.
“Captain, no, you need someone—” Jenkins’s voice was tight, fighting pain, and she steadfastly blinked back tears of agony.
“You’re no use as a conn officer with a burned hand,” said Janeway, not softening the words. “Get to sickbay. That’s an order.”
“Aye, Captain.” Reluctantly, Jenkins rose and headed for the turbolift. Janeway moved from her captain’s chair to man the conn herself.
Another blow. Again, the vessel shuddered. Something Tuvok said lingered in Janeway’s mind. Something about the damage. What was it?
The warp core was offline.
And the dark matter was stored in a fragile little universe inside that warp core, a fragile little universe that Torres had reported had already begun to disintegrate.
* * *
“Oh, God,” said Torres. “Not now, not now….” As if there was ever a good time for the warp core to be offline. But now, right in the middle of a battle with Romulans, when the warp-bubble universe was already showing signs of rapidly increasing instability, was quite possibly the very worst time the warp core could have chosen to go offline.
She knew that Janeway would want warp drive back immediately, but right now getting that warp-bubble universe stable again was the most important priority. Without it, having warp drive wouldn’t matter one damn bit.
“Seven, how are you coming on creating that second shell?”
“I am making progress,” began the former Borg. At that moment, the ship rocked again. Her console began spitting sparks. “This console is damaged. I will have to start from the beginning.” As if that didn’t matter to her at all, Seven calmly strode to a second console and began tapping in equations.
Torres admired Seven’s cool even as it frustrated the hell out of her. She made a decision. “We don’t have time. Keep working on it anyway, Seven, we may need a backup. Khala, Vorik, give me a hand here. We’ve got to see if we can’t create some kind of field around this thing.”
Something that would halt the destabilization of the miniature universe. Something that would not halt a transport of dark matter from That Damned Ball into said miniature universe.
There were moments when being chief engineer on Voyager made being a Maquis look like an afternoon in the park.
“Shield,” said Khala softly. Her pretty brow furrowed in concentration.
“Sometime today, Khala, if you don’t mind,” barked Torres.
“Wait a minute, B’Elanna. I have an idea.” Khala tapped her combadge. “Khala to the Doctor.”
* * *
Despite Jekri Kaleh’s haughty attitude, Janeway noticed that the Talvath was heading straight for the protection that Voyager had offered. The battle continued, with Janeway now manning the conn. Voyager and the Romulan warbird that defended the science vessel were outnumbered three to two. It was an odd little dance. Janeway was not issuing orders to destroy the ships, merely cripple them. She knew, as the Romulans could not, how they had been duped and how closely they were skirting death. The warbirds, for their part, were also firing carefully on the Federation ship. Janeway realized that they still wanted Voyager as a spoil of war.
However, the Para’tar seemed to have no such compunctions. It was firing to kill, and the other warbirds attacked it with equal vigor.
“Come on, Kaleh,” said Janeway under her breath. The vessel’s approach was agonizingly slow. But it needed to be, she reminded herself.
One of the enemy ships suddenly became aware of the Talvath’s snail-like progress. It ceased firing on Voyager and redirected its efforts on the smaller vessel, landing a direct hit. The ship careened off course, badly damaged.
“Target and fire,” Janeway ordered. She knew the Romulans must be baffled that she could see them so accurately with their supposedly flawless shields erected. Tuvok obeyed, and the warbird took heavy damage. It turned slowly, then stopped.
“That one’s out of the battle,” said Kim.
“I hope you’re right,” said Janeway. “What’s the status on the buildup of dark matter in the area?”
“It’s increasing with every moment that their shields are activated,” Kim reported. “There’s also a high concentration that was discharged by the wormhole.”
“They’re killing themselves and they cannot even see it,” said Telek. “The more they utilize Lhiau’s Shepherd technology, either with the cloaks or the wormholes, the more dark matter they spew forth.”
The ship shook again. “Our ship is responding to the barrage of dark matter. Our shields are down thirty-four percent. Weapons systems are offline,” Tuvok reported.
“Is the warp core still offline?” Janeway asked. If they couldn’t fight, they would have to flee, with, she hoped, the Talvath in tow. They needed at least one defense option or Romulan shock troops from the remaining two hostile warbirds would be aboard Voyager before they knew it.
“Affirmative,” said Tuvok.
“Captain,” said Kim, “Torres reports that they are still having trouble with the Shepherd technology. She says they’ve got to fix that before they dare engage in warp drive.”
Janeway nodded her comprehension and made her decision. “Fire at will, Commander Tuvok.”
“Aye, Captain,” acknowledged the Vulcan.
Seated at the conn, Janeway badly wanted to utilize her ship’s quick movements to defend herself, but she couldn’t, not yet. The small science vessel had recovered from the nearly devastating attack and was again heading straight for them. To make the ship dip and dive now would be to lose the Talvath.
“How close is the Talvath?” she asked.
“Almost here,” said Paris.
She could see it on the screen, a visible David among the cloaked Goliaths, moving with steady purpose toward safety. Again Janeway wondered what was going on. There was the distinct possibility, almost a likelihood, that this
was part of a trap. But if so, were the Romulans really willing to nearly destroy the only vessel equipped with wormhole technology simply to make the fight look believable? To destroy themselves? Something about this rang true, and Janeway had seen enough to trust her gut. She still had her suspicions, though. One did not deal with the chairman of the Tal Shiar without having suspicions. Even a former chairman, if Jekri Kaleh was to be believed.
Another direct hit. Janeway fell forward and hit her head on the conn. For an awful moment, the world went gray. When she recovered, everything had a slight halo around it. A mild concussion. She gritted her teeth and willed herself to stay conscious. Neither she nor her vessel could take much more of this.
Suddenly there was a bright explosion. For a brief, wild second Janeway wondered if this was some strange manifestation of her head injury, then realized that one of their photon torpedoes had landed a direct hit on a warbird—and utterly destroyed it. This was becoming far too familiar, this vulnerability of dark-matter-cloaked warbirds, but seeing it repeated did nothing to lessen the pain and regret Janeway experienced at the sight.
“Any life signs?” she asked.
“Negative,” said Kim. Even as he spoke, the first warbird, the one that had been put “out of the battle,” as Kim had phrased it earlier, also exploded.
“Dammit, why did we fire on a crippled ship?” cried Janeway, blinking in a frantic attempt to make the halo go away.
“We did not,” Tuvok replied. “It either self-destructed or the dark matter destroyed it.”
“Open a channel to the remaining warbird,” she said. Even as she uttered the words, she knew they were futile. It was déjà vu. How many times must this ghastly scenario reenact itself before the stubborn, proud Romulans would listen to reason?
“Open, Captain,” Kim replied.
“This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship—”
“We know who you are, Captain,” came a harsh, masculine voice. No visual, not yet. “Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”
“The Talvath is safely within our shields,” Kim said. Janeway nodded her acknowledgment. One good thing, anyway.
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