“So you have said.”
“I’m too close now.”
“To what?” Tuvok asked. “This war has continued for thousands of years. You are no more than a temporary player on this stage. It will continue long after you have sacrificed your life on the altar of revenge.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing here?”
“It is logical to wish to destroy those who injured you. It was logical for you to embrace those who could best aid you in this cause. However, it is illogical to assume that anything you might do to aid the Rilnar will prove decisive in this conflict. Given that, your commitment is misplaced.”
“This isn’t about the Rilnar, Tuvok.”
“No? I do not—” Tuvok began as she rose abruptly from her chair.
“Tomorrow will be another long day. You’ll find me in the Center when you awaken.”
Without another word she departed the room. An aide entered shortly thereafter to guide Tuvok to the quarters that had been prepared for him.
VESTA
Admiral Janeway had found it impossible to remain seated as she reviewed the contents of the message buoy. Stillness had given way to fretful pacing. She had paused only when the body blows of certain specific events had halted her, with the force of their visceral revulsion.
It was an unnerving sensation to hear herself speak of things she could not remember. She’d felt sympathy for the denzit when Chakotay had described the role similar logs had played in her torture at the hands of the Zahl. Now she felt she had shared some of the denzit’s suffering. Even in the absence of brutal interrogation techniques, to listen even once to the voice of the woman she had been was to bear gut-wrenching witness to her own descent.
The initial entries had been filled with resolve, determination not to allow what had appeared to be minor setbacks to sway her course. As the situation had continued to devolve, the cracks in her personal defenses had widened under the vast weight of the mounting obstacles to Voyager’s survival. The toll was unmistakable. The final logs had been composed of short, terse phrases, filled with equal parts of anguish and rage. The admiral doubted that the few officers who remained aboard had been privy to the depths of her torment. But these personal logs testified to her despair.
On her worst days in the Delta Quadrant, Janeway had never imagined miscalculating so thoroughly. To believe for a moment that the fate Voyager had suffered at the hands of the Krenim was possible would have given rein to paralyzing fear. She had no idea how much of Kes’s Year of Hell resembled the events of these logs, but she was certain that the crew’s designation of that period of time was accurate.
It had begun innocuously enough. On Stardate 51268.4, Voyager made contact with a large battle cruiser that identified itself as part of the Krenim Imperium. They were ordered to leave Krenim space. Going around their territory would have added years to their journey, and Janeway opted to attempt to cross through undetected. Within weeks they were engaging the Krenim on a regular basis. The ship suffered heavy damage. Several crew members were killed or seriously injured, including Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, who was blinded by the detonation of a chroniton torpedo that had become lodged in the ship. Seven and B’Elanna had developed temporal shields for Voyager as a defense against the chroniton torpedoes. Eventually they realized that the shields also had a more significant effect. They made Voyager immune to further alterations in the timeline that they realized were happening all around them. Two and a half months into their struggle, they were contacted by a Krenim leader named Annorax who said that he bore Voyager no malice, but could not allow them to continue to thwart his designs. He had taken Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Paris prisoners in order to “study” them. The battles had raged on for months as vast sections of the ship had suffered irreparable damage and Voyager had been stripped of her defensive capabilities. Eventually, Janeway had been forced to order most of the crew to abandon ship.
The logs had ended there.
The admiral did not wish to review the logs again but had no choice. A cursory analysis revealed the power the Krenim had once wielded in this area of space and the lengths to which they had gone to secure their supremacy. While still formidable, their current holdings were dwarfed by those reported in the logs. The present-day reality suggested that Janeway had managed to somehow alter that timeline, wiping away the Krenim’s vast gains and possibly leaving them none the wiser. But how? The only contact she remembered with the Krenim had taken place on the exact same stardate as the one referenced in the buoy’s first log entry.
As she struggled to organize her thoughts, separating her true memories from what she had just learned, the door to the lab slid open and Captain Farkas entered. One look at Janeway’s face halted her in her tracks.
Squaring her shoulders, Farkas said, “We have departed Krenim space, following the course given to us by the scout ship we encountered. We kept sensors engaged along the way, but did not detect any additional Federation signals. We’re preparing to engage the slipstream drive to regroup with the rest of the fleet, unless you have new orders.”
Janeway nodded. “For now, we must go back. We need to know what intelligence the others have acquired. But as of this moment, our mission here has expanded beyond the situation on Sormana.”
“It has?”
“We need to know everything there is to learn about the Krenim Imperium, and we need to know it yesterday. In addition, Lieutenant Bryce and Ensign Icheb should begin work immediately integrating that Borg temporal shielding into all of our defensive systems.”
“You think we’re going to need them?”
“I hope not, but until we know more, I can’t rule out the possibility.”
13
ZAHLNA II
The forged identification cards Rukh had provided to Seven and the Doctor had granted them access to the germschled’s largest research library. The residents of Zahlnerest, the planet’s capital city, sent their children to this campus to be educated from kindergarten through post-graduate studies. The centralized arrangement appealed to Seven’s sense of order but the Doctor wondered how robust an education anyone could acquire from any system that was so strictly regimented. It was an ideal establishment for indoctrination, less so for rigorously expanding developing young minds.
However, for their purposes the facility was certain to provide all the data they required regarding the history of the Sormana conflict.
They presented their credentials and asked to be directed to the library’s records on Sormana. The attending aide looked up at them quizzically. “A moment please,” he said.
“Perhaps we should simply instigate our own search,” the Doctor suggested softly.
Seven was about to concur when the aide returned, accompanied by an aged Zahl female wearing a diaphanous robe in shades of purple and green that fell almost to the floor.
“Hello,” she greeted them pleasantly. “I am Wichella, this facility’s chief archivist. Mev has advised me that two students from off-world have come to study Sormana. If you could provide me with more specific information about the nature of your search, I will be better able to direct you to the appropriate resources.”
The Doctor warmed to Wichella immediately. Seven had witnessed a similar response from him many times when they had first joined the Federation Institute, before they had both realized how tedious many of their fellow scholars could be.
“We wish to understand the history of the conflict as well as the Zahl’s interests in perpetuating it,” Seven said.
Wichella seemed taken aback by the inference. “It appears you have already been misinformed, Miss . . . ?”
Seven paused a moment too long to remember the name on her forged credentials. “Pranlit, Shenra Pranlit,” she finally said.
“I am Ginalis Trawk,” the Doctor added. “Perhaps you have read my thesis on—”
Seven cut him off by shooting the Doctor a glare that could melt duranium, as Wichella’s eyes darted between t
hem, perhaps wondering if she had found herself on the receiving end of an alien joke. She continued without losing her composure, “Miss Pranlit. Mister Trawk. I regret to say that I am not familiar with your academic achievements. From whom have you already heard tales of Sormana?”
“An alien species several light-years distant,” Seven replied. When Wichella continued to stare at her expectantly Seven added, “The Nihydron.”
“Hm. Never heard of them either,” Wichella mused. “But if they suggested to you that the Zahl Regnancy has done anything other than attempt to end the conflict on Sormana, they were mistaken.”
A few other students had begun to form a line behind the Doctor and Seven. Wichella gestured for them to follow her into a nearby study carrel. Once the door had closed behind them, she continued. “Sormana remains, to this day, our greatest cultural tragedy. It is not difficult to understand what drove the conflict in its earliest days. The Rilnar are an aggressive species. They subjugated the Zahl on Sormana and it took more than a thousand years for our Zahl ancestors to throw off the yoke. As our civilizations advanced, side by side, there were periods of relative peace. But neither group ever seemed willing to let go of the disputes of the past in favor of an enduring peace. It’s more complicated than that, of course. We’re talking about thousands of years of history. Once our people ventured out among the stars, however, everything changed for us.”
“But not for those who remained behind?” the Doctor prodded gently.
Wichella’s face became wistful. “No. The educational system on Sormana is quite different from ours. Children are raised on ancient disputes. They are taught, and rightfully so, that the fault lies with the Rilnar. They have always wanted more. They have never been satisfied with any territorial exchanges, nor have they honored previous settlements. And with so much of the planet now laid waste, habitable areas are even more valuable than they once were.”
“The Zahl are an advanced species,” Seven said. “Why have they simply not forced the residents to abandon the planet? Surely there is ample room in the colonies to absorb Sormana’s Zahl population.”
“Sormana’s political leaders have always claimed authority over the colonies, given that their rule is hereditary and predates the founding of the colonies,” Wichella replied. “The regnancy doesn’t see it that way, but has never been willing to officially disabuse them of this quaint notion. There is no practical point in doing so. A fair number of children born on the planet are sent here or to some of the other germschleds to be educated. Few return to Sormana when they come of age. Once they begin to understand the futility of the ongoing conflict, as we do, it is difficult for them to rejoin the war effort. It is impossible to say when the settlements on Sormana will be no more, but it seems inevitable to everyone who lives beyond them. The situation, as it stands, simply cannot endure.”
“And yet it has,” the Doctor noted.
“Yes, but the present age is different. Even a hundred years ago there were still many colonists with friends and family members on the homeworld. Today, there are almost none. The current regnancy and its predecessors have gradually distanced themselves from Sormana. While I cannot say that we enjoy particularly warm relations with our Rilnar neighbors, there is, at least, so much space between us as to make ongoing conflict unnecessary. The goal now is to contain the fighting on the planet’s surface and hopefully, within the next few generations, to see it fade, like any fire denied sufficient oxygen.”
“What can you tell us about the work of Zahl researchers or scientists in the field of temporal mechanics? Whom do you consider to be your most promising or preeminent voices on the subject?” Seven asked.
Wichella chortled to herself. “Temporal mechanics?” Shaking her head, she continued, “I must find these Nihydron and provide them with better data on our people. Undoubtedly they told you of Rahalla. As a historian, I understand well how mundane the truth can appear when set beside such vivid and sensational tales.”
“Rahalla?” Seven asked.
“He was a Zahl scientist who was born, oh, almost three hundred years ago on Sormana. He claimed to have discovered particles of matter that mutated time. He was an old man when he first boarded a colony transport vessel and began to spread his ridiculous theories.”
“You are saying that no one else verified his findings or has continued to pursue his work?” Seven asked.
“There is a single office at this germschled dedicated to Rahalla’s theories. Its small staff is led by Frem Albrec. His work is permitted, though not officially sanctioned. The provost is content to allow a few frivolous pursuits when they have some basis in historical fact. One never knows, I suppose, what ancient tidbits might be worth remembering. But there are no reputable Zahl scientists here pursuing research in that field. In fact, the only species of which I am aware that is rumored to take the study seriously are the Krenim.”
“The Krenim?” Seven repeated, consciously avoiding a pointed glance the Doctor directed toward her at this revelation.
“Theirs is a vast Imperium whose territory once bordered ours. Long ago, when the Zahl first ventured into space, they encountered the Krenim and there was a period of sustained territorial disputes. But they have kept to themselves for most of the last century, if not more. Still, some of our exploratory vessels that have ventured into the Krenim’s space will return with terribly interesting, if completely unverifiable, rumors; nothing that would stand up to serious academic scrutiny.”
“Could you direct us to Frem Albrec?” the Doctor asked.
“With pleasure,” Wichella replied. “But only if you promise to remember that his tales are more myth than fact.”
“We promise,” Seven assured her.
GALEN
“You can relax,” Commander Glenn said as she deactivated the force field behind which Lieutenants Velth and Barclay had waited while they had been scanned for any contagions. “You are both in perfect health and free of any unknown viral or bacterial agents.”
Velth smiled in relief. Barclay, who was sweating profusely, seemed dubious. “Are you certain, Commander?” he asked. “I really don’t feel well.”
“I wouldn’t let you rejoin the rest of us if I had any doubts, Reg,” Glenn replied. “Get cleaned up and eat a decent meal. Drink lots of water over the next several hours. You’ll be fine.”
“If whatever incapacitated that man is loose on this station, we might want to consider suspending further tours,” Velth suggested.
“Agreed,” Glenn said. “I’ve already checked the other officers who have boarded the station and nothing contagious has shown up, but it’s not worth risking. We did get a brief glimpse of the victim’s bio-readings. When you called for transport, Gevais was trying to establish a lock on both of you. It was interrupted by the station’s internal transporter, but the fact that he was pulled out of there so quickly suggests that someone on Lillestan knows there’s a problem. They found him and removed him too soon for it to have been random. He was under surveillance, or they have some fairly unique protocols in place to handle their medical emergencies.”
Velth shook his head and came perilously close to rolling his eyes. He’d gotten to know the Galen’s captain pretty well in the last several months. They’d shared a particularly grueling experience in their tour of the First World’s medical facilities during the fleet’s recent mission to establish diplomatic relations with the Confederacy of the Worlds of the First Quadrant. He clearly knew where this was heading and was already dreading the prospect.
“You’re going to personally investigate Lillestan’s medical offices, aren’t you?” Velth asked.
“Damn right I am. The victim was Zahl. Seven and the Doctor are on one of their colonies right now. If this isn’t an isolated incident, we need to be ready.”
Velth nodded. “When do you want to do this?”
“No time like the present, Lieutenant. I just need to collect a few supplies.”
“Aye, Commander.�
�
DEMETER
Lieutenant Commander Atlee Fife was the last to join Commander O’Donnell and Counselor Cambridge to begin their analysis of the data they had collected on Rilnadaar VI and Rilquitain. Demeter was en route to rendezvous with Voyager, and Lieutenant Url had taken the watch. Fife had not seen Counselor Cambridge put down the small, leather-bound book O’Donnell had liberated from Haverbern since their return to the ship. Even now, Cambridge sat at the briefing table with it open before him. His tricorder was near at hand and consulted frequently.
“Well, Atlee, what did you learn?” O’Donnell asked.
“That I do not share your distaste for diplomatic exchanges,” Fife replied amiably, eliciting a wide grin from O’Donnell.
“Really?”
“The food was excellent,” Fife noted.
“The wine was better,” Cambridge added without looking up.
“The party line, as you described it, Commander, is summarized in my report,” Fife continued, nodding toward the padd that sat on the table before O’Donnell.
“Sormana is a great tragedy, a blight upon the otherwise stunning cultural achievements of the Rilnar,” O’Donnell said, quoting from the padd.
“Yes, sir.”
“And the denzit?”
“She is something of a curiosity among them. I did receive verification that the Rilnar rescued her several years ago. The facts tracked with those she reported to Captain Chakotay. They further confirmed that they attempted to assist her in locating Voyager again, but to no avail.”
“By the time she would have started looking we were back in the Alpha Quadrant, exploring the Yaris Nebula, if memory serves,” Cambridge offered.
“There is an unspoken but clearly implied confidence in her abilities among the diplomats,” Fife said.
“They don’t want to get their own hands dirty, but are cheering her on from the sidelines?” O’Donnell asked.
“Something like that.”
“Does it go further? Are they secretly sending her supplies and reinforcements?”
Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies Page 17
