“Do you have any idea what all this is about?” he asked.
“The captain didn’t check in with me personally, but I’m assuming, what with the Red Alert and all, that it’s bad.”
“Sure, but there are degrees of bad, Sadie.”
“If the captain has called for battle stations, I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest we’ve probably made contact with the aliens we were sent out here to find and that they’re not happy to see us,” Johns said.
“Or maybe they are thrilled to see us,” Phinn suggested optimistically.
“You go with that if it makes you feel better, Bryce.”
As Phinn lived most of his life in the theoretical, he decided that it did, and until he had reason to believe otherwise, he would assume the best.
“What’s our status, Commander?” Farkas asked, stopping just short of the sensor that would open the doors of sickbay.
“All three of our vessels are surrounded, Captain,” was Roach’s unnerving reply. “They are holding position for now.”
I’ll try to remember and thank someone later for small favors, Farkas decided as she stepped toward the doors.
The tense faces of Sal’s staff met her initial questioning gaze. One of the nurses directed her with a glance toward the private room where Ti’Ana had been living behind a psionic force field for the past few days.
Steeling herself, Farkas quickly covered the distance and entered the room. Sal stood with her arms crossed, a tricorder hanging limply in her hand. Ti’Ana lay flat on a biobed, restrained at the shoulders, hands, and feet. Chafing around her wrists suggested she’d struggled against them recently.
“Doctor?” Farkas asked.
Pulling the captain toward a corner of the room, Sal said, “As soon as we went to Yellow Alert, I restrained the ensign and dropped the protective field. Within seconds, she began to thrash about violently. As you can see, she’s a little calmer now,” she finished softly.
“And we’re sure she’s not alone in there?” Farkas asked.
Sal shook her head and raised the tricorder for Farkas to see. Though Farkas wasn’t an expert in neural analysis, the presence of two distinct patterns was obvious enough.
Nodding, Farkas stepped into Ti’Ana’s line of sight.
“I am Captain Regina Farkas of the Federation Starship—” she began.
“You were told not to return to our space,” a cold voice replied through Ti’Ana’s lips.
“I know,” Farkas replied, “but you should not misunderstand our presence here. Your species is unlike any we have ever encountered, and we came in hopes that you would reconsider establishing peaceful contact with us.”
Ti’Ana’s eyes rolled back in her head and her eyelids fluttered momentarily. Disconcerting as this was for Farkas to witness, it paled in comparison to the hard stare that met hers when the ensign’s eyes fell back into place.
“Is this why you have brought us the life?” was the alien’s inexplicable question.
Chapter Seven
STARDATE 58452.9
U.S.S. GALEN
As the Doctor signed off on the list of supplies he’d requisitioned for Neelix, he noticed the Talaxian gingerly placing his hand against the glass partition separating his office from the main entrance to Galen’s medical bay. Neelix pressed firmly, as if testing the wall’s strength, before shaking his head.
“I assure you, Neelix, the wall is quite solid.”
“You’d think I’d be used to it after so many years on Voyager’s holodecks, wouldn’t you?” Neelix replied, looking a little chastened.
Although the Doctor had done his best during their brief tour of his vessel that morning to explain to Neelix that the ship, though equipped throughout with holographic generators, was not, in fact, just one huge holodeck, he feared the distinction had been lost on his old friend. With a smile, he offered Neelix the completed supply list to review.
“I believe that’s everything we discussed,” he said.
Neelix read through the description of the medical supplies he’d be taking back to New Talax and admonished the Doctor. “This is too much. I’m grateful, of course, but you can’t possibly spare all of this.”
“We can,” the Doctor corrected him gently.
“But if the fleet were to come under attack …”
“We have sufficient power reserves to replicate this list a hundred times over, Neelix,” the Doctor replied. “I insist you take this, and let me know if you need anything more.”
It was clear from Neelix’s expression that he’d be returning home a conquering hero with even a fraction of what the Doctor had offered. “Doctor Hestax won’t believe his good fortune,” Neelix finally said. Then he met the Doctor’s eyes firmly. “And neither do I.”
Before the Doctor could reply that it was nothing, Neelix had grabbed him and pulled him into a firm hug.
“I’ve told my people time and time again of the generosity of Starfleet and Voyager’s crew. If they ever doubted me before, this should prove my point. Thank you so much.”
The Doctor extricated himself gently and responded with a soft pat to Neelix’s shoulder. “Happy to be of assistance,” he assured Neelix.
“And thank you again for showing me your beautiful ship,” Neelix went on. “You should be very proud of what you’ve built here.”
Though no one who knew him well would have believed it, the Doctor’s programming did not actually contain a subroutine for pride. The satisfaction he felt at Neelix’s words could only have come from the part of him that had outgrown his initial design, the part that had been nurtured so carefully by his many friends aboard Voyager, including Neelix, for many years.
“Doctor Zimmerman had been working on the specifications for years,” the Doctor replied, trying to give credit where it was due. “But the modifications I suggested have made all the difference,” he added. “The wall color, for example: don’t you find it welcoming?”
“I do.” Neelix nodded with less enthusiasm than the Doctor might have wished. Of course Neelix’s idea of “welcoming” was probably chartreuse flecked with gold and turquoise spots.
It was past time for Neelix’s scheduled departure. With genuine regret, the Doctor returned to the seat behind his desk, hoping to avoid a drawn-out farewell.
“We will remain in range with New Talax for quite some time,” he said. “Don’t hesitate to let us know if we can be of further assistance to you.”
Neelix considered the Doctor briefly, then surprised him by taking the seat opposite him rather than moving toward the office door.
“Are you all right?” he asked. The Doctor knew well enough that when Neelix had something caught in his teeth, a skilled surgeon couldn’t remove it. Nonetheless, he attempted to brush any concerns aside.
“Of course,” he replied. “I’ve never been better.”
Neelix’s chin fell and his eyes clearly displayed disbelief.
“What?” the Doctor asked, the testiness that had usually been his default position with Neelix returning as if years had never separated them.
“It’s my understanding that the young woman who was taken prisoner by that alien consciousness worked with you,” he said kindly, clearly hoping to draw the Doctor out.
“Have you been talking to Reg?” the Doctor asked, miffed.
“Of course not,” Neelix replied honestly, “though I was pleased to finally meet him when you introduced us this morning.” After a moment he continued, “I must admit, he didn’t seem as energetic as I expected.”
Though energetic might normally have been an apt description of Lieutenant Reginald Barclay, the Doctor knew too well that since the fleet had left the Indign system, he had worked night and day to find a way to track Meegan. When Barclay had received word that Neelix had recovered her shuttle, rather than joining them for Neelix’s dinner, he began poring through the shuttle’s logs, looking for clues. As far as the Doctor was concerned, he’d earned his penance. Transgressions such
as his should weigh heavy on a man’s conscience.
“Lieutenant Barclay has a great deal of work to do,” the Doctor offered.
“If I had spoken to him, what would he have told me?” Neelix asked gently.
“Hopefully that he’s finished meddling in other people’s personal lives,” the Doctor replied too hotly.
Neelix allowed this to sink in, then asked quietly, “Was this Meegan more than an assistant?”
The Doctor knew when he was beaten. Neelix would remain in his office until he received an answer, even if he reached old age in the process.
“Meegan was a hologram,” the Doctor replied with a sigh. “Apparently Reg and Doctor Zimmerman decided that I couldn’t select an appropriate romantic partner for myself, so they created one for me. Of course they didn’t tell me what they’d done. They didn’t tell anyone. And because of that, an incredibly advanced piece of Federation technology is now roaming the galaxy under the influence of a brutish alien consciousness.”
Neelix nodded as if he understood.
“Were you in love with her?” he asked simply, deftly avoiding what the Doctor believed to be the source of his current anger and hitting the actual truth on its head.
“I barely knew her.”
“But you liked her?”
“I don’t know.”
Neelix remained perfectly still, as deft a hunter as ever.
“I might have,” the Doctor finally said softly.
“Don’t worry,” Neelix said as comfortingly as possible. “You’ll find her again, and you’ll free her from the influence of whatever has taken her.”
Though the Doctor actually suspected that they would eventually do just that, part of him wasn’t sure that he really wanted to.
“It’s wrong, Neelix.”
“Loving someone else is never wrong,” Neelix insisted. “Even when it doesn’t end the way we’d like,” he added.
“How would you feel if someone else tried to create the perfect woman for you?” the Doctor asked, trying to make him understand.
Neelix’s face brightened. “The universe did just that,” he replied with a smile. “Twice.”
“You don’t understand,” the Doctor said.
Neelix rose from his chair, not the least bit insulted. “I think both Reg and Doctor Zimmerman are good friends to you,” he said. “And I think that even when we disagree with our friends, we owe it to them and to ourselves to forgive them. True friends,” he finished, “are too rare to be taken for granted.”
Neelix had reached the door before the Doctor had processed his words. Rising, he said softly, “Take care of yourself, Neelix.”
“I always do.”
“I’m serious,” the Doctor said more forcefully. “And promise me that if you hear anything about Meegan, you won’t go after her yourself.” Somehow the Doctor knew that, given her importance to him, it was exactly the kind of thing Neelix would do. “She’s too dangerous.”
Neelix nodded. “Take care of our friends,” he said as he left the office.
As soon as Neelix was gone, the Doctor made his way to Reg’s private lab and found him in exactly the same position he’d left him in hours earlier, his back bent over a data terminal, his eyes bleary.
“I think I owe you an apology,” he surprised both of them by saying.
U.S.S. ACHILLES
Commander Tillum Drafar was one of the tallest men B’Elanna had ever met. He stood easily over two meters. Though B’Elanna suspected it was an optical illusion, she got the impression that the top of her head reached barely above his waist.
His features were every bit as bold as the rest of him. A long mane of fine white hair sat atop his head like a helmet. B’Elanna found herself wondering privately what sort of product he might use to keep every strand of it so perfectly in place, especially working in the often overheated bowels of a starship. A single frontal ridge protruded just above large silver eyes, curving downward in a way that made those eyes his most striking feature. Scores of faint brown spots cascaded over his nose and covered his cheeks. His mouth was small, relatively speaking, but his smile was wide as he welcomed her aboard Achilles.
His vessel, like its commanding officer, was massive. The specs put its length at nine hundred sixty meters from stem to stern. Its forward section had a triangular shape that soon gave way to a long, rectangular body. Spaced along its hull at multiple levels were large bay doors that would ease the passage of any large structures that might require ingress or egress. The two largest nacelles B’Elanna had ever laid eyes on emerged from its rear section. What it lacked in elegance, it more than made up for in imposition. There was something comforting in the thought of Achilles as a part of the fleet. For the first time in a long time, B’Elanna allowed herself to imagine projects on a scale never known to her in the Delta Quadrant.
“At last we meet,” Drafar said cordially as he grasped the hand she extended to him in greeting in two huge six-fingered hands.
“The pleasure is mine, Commander,” B’Elanna replied sincerely.
“As you’ll see, we run a tight ship here. I personally selected the five hundred sixty-one crew that staff this ship, and all of them are the best in their respective specialties.”
“I don’t doubt it,” B’Elanna replied, though given the records of the staffs of the other fleet vessels, she thought Drafar might be selling the others short. “I look forward to working with you and your crew,” she added, suddenly remembering how displaced and overwhelmed she’d felt the first day she’d taken command of Voyager’s engine room. At the time, there had been plenty of Starfleet veterans who doubted both her abilities and Captain Janeway’s judgment. It had taken years, in some cases, to put those fears to rest, though like good Starfleet officers, her subordinates had never had the temerity to express their doubts to her face.
Reminding herself that she had earned her position as fleet engineering chief and that her experience in the Delta Quadrant solving complex and often esoteric engineering challenges was on a par with anyone’s record, B’Elanna lifted her chin a little higher and said, “Lieutenant Conlon bet me that you’d have the benamite recrystalization matrices up and running by now.”
“If you wagered against us, you lost,” Drafar replied with obvious pride.
“Shall we start there, then?” B’Elanna asked, ready to get her tour under way.
“Why?” Drafar asked.
Slightly taken aback and concerned that she might have inadvertently offended him, B’Elanna replied, “If there’s something else you had in mind, that’s not a problem.”
“Apologies,” Drafar said completely insincerely. “What I meant is that it won’t be necessary for you to check our work, Commander … I’m sorry, is it Paris or Torres?”
“Torres,” B’Elanna shot back quickly. Taking Tom’s name when they’d married had been more of a private joke between them than a practical issue. She’d been Lieutenant Torres among Voyager’s crew for almost seven years by then, and Tom didn’t care one way or the other, though he enjoyed calling her Mrs. Paris when they were alone.
“But you did give your daughter her father’s name?” Drafar asked in a way that suggested that to do otherwise would be unthinkable.
“She is Miral Paris, yes,” B’Elanna replied. Hoping to find some rapport, she added, “Miral was my mother’s name.”
Drafar seemed to find this notion puzzling.
“I thought you’d begin by reviewing our mission logs to date,” Drafar said. “I’ve found a spare terminal for you in one of our sub-bays on deck nine. It shouldn’t take you long to see that we’re at or ahead of schedule on all of our supply and maintenance requests.”
And after that I’ll just scurry back to Voyager and leave you to run your ship in peace? B’Elanna thought. Not likely. In her new position as fleet chief B’Elanna was responsible for overseeing the engineering aspects of every ship in the fleet, and she had already concluded that Achilles was going to play a big par
t in her work. Though she hadn’t yet discussed it with Tom, she wondered if during missions where Voyager and Achilles were in the same area, it might be a good idea for her to base her work on Achilles. The ship’s resources vastly dwarfed Voyager’s. Now that she’d met Drafar, however, she wondered if he’d be amenable to such a proposal.
“I’d really like to see as much of Achilles as you have time to show me, Commander,” B’Elanna said. “I’ve already reviewed your logs and agree that your crew’s work is exemplary. I’m not here to get in the way of that, but as you’ll soon learn, I don’t take a hands-off approach to my work. Of course, if you have other priorities, you could assign one of your command staff to show me around,” she suggested.
“Not at all,” Drafar said. “I just assumed you’d be anxious to get back to your little girl. Children need their mothers so,” he added as if it were gospel.
For a moment, B’Elanna was dumbstruck. Though she’d encountered all sorts of race-based prejudices over the years, and struggled privately with her half-human, half-Klingon heritage, sexism of the sort Drafar had just displayed was pretty rare, especially in Starfleet.
He can’t mean what I think he means, she hoped.
“Miral is well taken care of,” she assured him. In truth, balancing Miral’s needs with that of her new job had almost been enough to dissuade her from accepting the position. Some creative scheduling, however, along with the support of Tom, several of her oldest friends, and a certified preschool education specialist aboard Esquiline whom she’d met with early this morning to discuss a curriculum, had lessened her anxieties on this front. Tom was caring for Miral now and, before his shift began, would take her to the holodeck, where Seven had volunteered to give her a morning of rigorous exercise. B’Elanna had been somewhat surprised by Seven’s offer but soon remembered the fondness with which Seven had cared for Naomi Wildman and hoped that she might develop a similar bond with Miral. After lunch, the Doctor would take over for a few hours of language arts. B’Elanna would resume Miral’s care in the late afternoon, and if the last several days were any indication, she would find her brimming over with stories of what she had learned and done throughout the day. Though it might be unconventional, B’Elanna had no doubt that her daughter would receive an extraordinary education for the duration of their stay with the fleet.
Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm Page 9
