Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Except that it didn’t. You and I have talked at some length about how your refusal to fully process some of your past experiences left you nearly paralyzed in the face of overwhelming tragedy.”

  “And I agreed with you and decided to do that work here.”

  “I would have thought this incident might have set you back a bit, perhaps created a certain amount of anxiety at the reality of your own vulnerability.”

  “I know how lucky I am, Counselor. I’ve come to really love my life here on Voyager and the people I serve with. I’m trying to stay focused on the positive things that fall within my control.”

  “A good strategy,” Cambridge agreed. “But, and this is a big but, I would not be the least bit surprised if in the future your subconscious finds ways to force this trauma into your conscious mind. I want to see you on a weekly basis, just to check in. I want to hear about any unusual dreams, anxiety, anything at all that just feels off. It’s possible you may live the rest of your life without the memory of a few days that anyone would be glad to forget. It’s just too early for me to believe that will happen.”

  “Works for me,” Conlon agreed.

  “Very well, Lieutenant,” Cambridge said, rising from his chair. “It’s time for you to get back to work.”

  Conlon smiled in genuine relief. “Yes, it is, sir.”

  STARSHIP VESTA

  Captain Regina Farkas stared across the table at Commander Liam O’Donnell, Demeter’s captain and one of the Federation’s most accomplished botanical geneticists. His hair had begun its retreat from his forehead years earlier and the dark brown tufts left above his ears and circling the back of his head were generously flecked with gray. His eyes, however, danced merrily when they met hers. He seemed to be in a good mood. This was rare in Farkas’s experience, but enjoyable. It lent an air of youth and vitality to O’Donnell.

  “Commander, you asked for this meeting,” Admiral Janeway reminded him from her place at the head of the table. Captain Chakotay was seated at the admiral’s right hand, the Galen’s Commander Clarissa Glenn at her left.

  “I did,” O’Donnell agreed. “I was hoping Seven would join us before we began.”

  On cue, the doors to the Vesta’s large briefing room slid open and Seven entered.

  “I apologize for my tardiness,” the statuesque mission specialist said, moving briskly to the empty chair beside O’Donnell.

  “It’s all right,” Janeway assured Seven. “We’re just getting started.”

  “If you would turn your attention to the data now appearing on your personal screens,” O’Donnell began as the small interfaces imbedded in front of each seat at the conference table were activated—a design standard to the Vesta-class ships—“you will find a list of several species that were added to our database during our most recent visit to New Talax.”

  “Ambassador Neelix has been busy,” Farkas noted.

  “Thankfully for us, he takes his role as the Federation’s ambassador to the Delta Quadrant quite seriously,” the admiral said.

  “And Neelix has no qualms about seeking far and wide for new trading partners,” Chakotay added. “His latest report offers intelligence on several species tens of thousands of light years from New Talax.”

  “Has he made contact with these species?” Seven asked.

  “Not so far. But he offers his trademark hospitality to everyone who comes in range of New Talax and as a result, he hears all sorts of fascinating rumors.”

  “I’m intrigued by several entries here,” O’Donnell said, refocusing their attention, “but the one I’m most curious about are the Nihydron. They’re referenced in Voyager’s database, although apparently you never made contact with them during your first visit.”

  Admiral Janeway was already cross-referencing the entry on her personal screen. “They were grouped with a few other species, including the Rilnar, Zahl, Krenim and the Mawasi whose territory fell within an area of disputed space.”

  “It’s almost hard to believe we managed to avoid getting ourselves into the middle of that,” Chakotay quipped.

  Admiral Janeway shot him a good-natured smirk as O’Donnell asked, “Did the Borg ever run across them?”

  “Species 1184,” Seven replied. “The Nihydron are humanoids with well-developed frontal lobes. They did not make particularly good drones.”

  “I like them already,” Glenn said.

  “According to Neelix’s report, they don’t have a homeworld, but operate from a number of small, well-hidden bases. The reputation they have gained for possessing critical data that covers vast swaths of the Delta Quadrant suggests that they have developed some form of propulsion similar to our slipstream drives.”

  “It’s also possible that they, like some of their neighbors, have discovered ways to effectively utilize the Seriareen’s subspace tunnels,” Chakotay suggested.

  “Either way, they are extensive data collectors,” O’Donnell continued. “Neelix suggested that they would likely have the best information available on any new developments in the several sectors they explore.”

  “Those sectors fall very near the borders of the next area of former Borg space we’re scheduled to investigate,” Janeway observed.

  “It is doubtful the Nihydron will freely share any intelligence they have gained,” Seven said.

  “Why?” Farkas asked.

  “Like many collectors, they prize the accumulation of data for their own purposes. They are excellent at evading detection when it suits them, one of many reasons their entire species was not completely assimilated.”

  “Perhaps,” Farkas agreed, “but our fleet just spent months exploring the Confederacy of the Worlds of the First Quadrant and making inroads with the Devore, the Turei, the Vaadwaur, and the Voth, collecting a great deal of useful intelligence of our own.” She caught an approving glance from O’Donnell. Clearly, they were already thinking along similar lines.

  “They also might be curious to know what became of the Borg,” Chakotay interjected. “Now that the Confederacy and the former Kinara allies have learned the fate of the Collective and of the Caeliar, some of them are likely sharing that information. We’d be offering the Nihydron direct access to the original source.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Janeway said. “But this is a first contact with which we will need to proceed very carefully.”

  “How so?” Farkas asked.

  “If four fleet vessels enter their territory at once, we could be perceived as a threat,” Janeway replied. “Depending upon their capabilities, the Nihydron could make it very difficult for us to find them. I don’t want to waste a lot of time on this.”

  “What do you suggest, Admiral?” Chakotay asked.

  Janeway locked eyes with O’Donnell. “This was your idea, Commander. The entire fleet will accompany you to the borders of Nihydron territory, but I think I’ll send Demeter in first to attempt to draw them out.”

  Uncertainty flashed briefly across O’Donnell’s face. He quickly squared his shoulders, obviously accepting the admiral’s challenge.

  “How best might we do that?” O’Donnell asked.

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something, Commander,” Janeway replied. “With Captain Chakotay’s permission, I’d like Counselor Cambridge to join you as a first-contact specialist.”

  “I think we can spare him for a bit,” Chakotay agreed.

  “Training wheels, Admiral?” O’Donnell asked pointedly.

  “Additional resources,” Janeway clarified.

  Farkas sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and grinning at O’Donnell’s discomfort. Traditionally, a mission like this would be handled by one of the fleet’s larger ships: the Vesta or Voyager. Demeter’s function with the exploratory group was to collect samples of unique botanical life-forms, to consult with species requiring their expertise, and to provide “home-grown” food when possible to supplement the fleet’s replicated fare. O’Donnell had already expanded on those parameters, as when the
fleet had encountered the Children of the Storm, and occasionally because it suited the commander’s personal whims. Farkas knew O’Donnell was astute, but nursed a propensity toward rashness. He was also the last man anyone would call a “people person.” It obviously hadn’t taken Admiral Janeway long to realize this. Clearly, she intended to push the commander to hone his diplomatic skills to match his technical abilities.

  “Very well, Admiral,” O’Donnell said, “I’ll need two hours to confer with Commander Fife before we depart.”

  Janeway nodded, signaling that the briefing had ended. “You should treat the Nihydron with the same delicacy you reserve for your most temperamental botanical specimens,” she suggested.

  “Don’t worry,” O’Donnell said. “I’m not planning on kidnapping their commanding officer, at least not right away.”

  “This should be interesting,” Chakotay offered.

  “I assume we’ll be monitoring Demeter’s communications,” Farkas asked of Janeway.

  The admiral nodded. “Just in case. Commander O’Donnell will do us all proud.” With a sharp nod she departed, leaving the rest of the fleet’s commanding officers to their own devices. O’Donnell started to follow her out, but paused as Farkas said, “The earliest Demeter might make contact would be nineteen hundred hours. Psilakis will have Vesta’s bridge.”

  “Lieutenant Kim has Voyager’s third watch tonight,” Chakotay noted.

  “I was planning to turn in a little early, but in this case . . .” Glenn began, smiling broadly at Commander O’Donnell.

  “My ready room, eighteen forty-five,” Farkas offered, winking at Demeter’s captain, “And bring your own popcorn.”

  O’Donnell considered his fellow captains, sighed deeply, and shook his head, leaving the briefing room without further comment.

  • • •

  The moment the doors to the briefing room slid open, Ensign Icheb straightened his posture, shifting his weight from the bulkhead where it had rested while he waited.

  Admiral Janeway’s face shifted from concern to surprise the moment she saw him. “Ensign,” she said warmly.

  “Good morning, Admiral,” Icheb greeted her, keeping his eyes forward.

  Janeway paused momentarily. “At ease, Icheb.”

  He complied, widening his stance while still refusing to meet her eyes.

  “What brings you to the Vesta this morning?” Janeway inquired.

  “I have a report to present to Commander O’Donnell before I begin my efficiency evaluation of Lieutenant Bryce and Vesta’s engineering department.”

  “Excellent,” Janeway said. “I know Commander Torres was pleased when you were assigned to assist her. I am too. It’s wonderful to have you with us again.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  Janeway started to say more, but turned as O’Donnell stormed out of the briefing room. He barely took note of either of them as he passed until Icheb called out, “A moment, please, Commander.”

  O’Donnell halted and turning back only slightly, nodded to Icheb.

  “Carry on,” Janeway said, and departed down the hall in the opposite direction.

  Icheb moved toward O’Donnell, who resumed walking, forcing the ensign to quicken his steps to keep pace.

  “I have revised my efficiency report for Lieutenant Elkins, Commander, and with your permission would like to present it to him,” Icheb said.

  O’Donnell did not reply, nor did he look at Icheb, but he did extend a hand and accept the padd Icheb offered. As both stopped to wait for the turbolift, he perused the new report quickly.

  The doors to the lift slid open. O’Donnell stepped in, handing the padd back to Icheb.

  “May I—” Icheb began.

  “Try again,” O’Donnell said as the doors slid shut.

  Deflated, but not defeated, Icheb allowed his shoulders to sag.

  Try again? Icheb had been so certain that the Doctor’s advice would prove helpful in resolving this situation. After serious consideration he had actually shortened the list to include only nineteen areas of concern. Where had he gone wrong?

  As no immediate answer was forthcoming, Icheb lifted his chin, swallowed his embarrassment, and made his way to Vesta’s engine room.

  VOYAGER

  Lieutenant Harry Kim, Voyager’s chief of security, caught up with Lieutenant Conlon just before she reached the doors to main engineering. “Lieutenant,” he greeted her crisply.

  “Lieutenant,” she snapped back.

  “Back on duty?”

  “Good as new,” she replied with a smile.

  Kim quickly checked the hall and as they were alone, stepped into her personal space. Conlon held her ground, gazing mischievously into his eyes. Their lips had almost touched when Conlon said, “Why aren’t you on the bridge, Lieutenant?”

  “I got a call from Neol,” Kim replied hungrily. “It sounded urgent.”

  “Why?” Conlon demanded, stepping back and immediately shifting gears. “What’s the problem?”

  The doors to engineering slid open and two of Conlon’s ensigns stepped through them, their uniforms covered in a thick, viscous fluid. Looking past them, Conlon noted that the engine room was a flurry of tense activity.

  “Lieutenant Conlon,” Ensign Mirk said with relief. “Please tell me you’re back on duty.”

  “I am. Why are you two covered in lubricant?” Conlon asked.

  “Ensign Icheb,” Ensign Worlin replied through gritted teeth.

  “Get cleaned up and back here as soon as possible,” Conlon ordered. “And try not to track too much of that down the hall. That’s freshly replicated floor covering you’re walking on.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied in miserable unison.

  Conlon spared a knowing glance toward Kim. “Whatever this is, I’ll handle it,” she assured him.

  “I think you’re going to have your hands full today.”

  “Shall we pick up where we left off a little later?” she asked.

  “I have Tom’s watch for the first half of beta shift,” Kim replied. “I get four whole hours to myself before taking command during gamma shift.”

  Conlon nodded, obviously disappointed. “Oh, well in that case . . .”

  “Go,” Kim ordered. He watched her return to her engine room with a frustrated sigh.

  • • •

  The number of bodies present suggested to Conlon that most of gamma shift had stayed on after hours. Two panels of deck plating lay near the entrance, along with several large coils of conduit. A variety of standard tools were scattered on every work surface. A large case of new isolinear chips lay open and within reach of Ensign Amiri, whose head was buried beneath the main diagnostic terminal. The air was thick with sweat and a faint tinge of plasma. Ensign Charvet stood on a portable lift taking readings from the magnetic constrictors near the top of the warp core. Lieutenant Saracen was analyzing a set of benamite crystals, newly removed from the slipstream portion of the assembly.

  It looked like half of engineering was in the process of being repaired or replaced.

  Conlon found Lieutenant Neol, one of her slipstream specialists, on his hands and knees about to enter an access port behind the secondary data terminals.

  “Neol,” Conlon said, bending down and keeping her voice low.

  The officer jerked his head back. It impacted the edge of the portal with a soft thud.

  “Ow,” Neol said.

  “Careful,” Conlon ordered as she helped to guide him safely back. When he was seated before her, gingerly rubbing his pale blue scalp, Conlon said, “I appreciate you assuming command in my absence, but there’s a difference between taking initiative and destroying engineering.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Neol pleaded. Grabbing a padd from a nearby stack he called up a file and handed the device to Conlon. “Four days ago Ensign Icheb presented us with his efficiency evaluation. He found three hundred sixty-six protocol violations and ordered us to begin rectifying them immediately.”


  “On whose authority?” Conlon demanded.

  “Commander Torres’s, I presumed,” Neol admitted.

  Conlon reviewed the padd quickly, noting that more than half of the issues Icheb had cited could only be safely addressed when a ship was docked at a space station or port. A handful related to standard repairs and maintenance Conlon already had on her to-do list. The rest were, at best, minor infractions.

  Shaking her head, Conlon extended a hand to help Neol to his feet. Lifting her voice she called out, “Engineers, attention.”

  The room quickly fell silent.

  “Finish your scans, note your readings, and then put this room back in working order immediately. No one, I repeat, no one is to continue on any projects designed to improve our efficiency rating. I’m back, and effective immediately, you will take orders only from me. Understood?”

  Conlon’s ears stung from the loud whoops and cheers that greeted her announcement.

  2

  STARSHIP DEMETER

  Counselor Hugh Cambridge had been standing beside the seat positioned in the center of Demeter’s claustrophobic bridge for what felt like his entire life. It was unseemly for a senior officer to yawn while on duty. It was growing more challenging by the minute for Cambridge to stifle that impulse.

  For the better part of the last six hours he had watched as Ensign Vincent and Lieutenant Url, the ship’s operations and tactical officers, respectively, searched for any sign of the Nihydron. This system was the one that Neelix said held one of their larger bases. It featured four planets orbiting a young G-type star, none of which were suitable for habitation. The single gas giant farthest from the sun had an unusual atmospheric composition. A crewman named Brill had joined Commander Fife at the rear science station. The two were discussing their readings in hushed tones.

  At least they appeared to be enjoying themselves. Cambridge felt he had been banished to one of the lower levels of Dante’s hell. Commander O’Donnell did not seem to share his frustration.

  “Any response to our friendship greetings?” O’Donnell asked.