The fear had crystallized, however, shoving his rage to one side, the moment the alien’s configuration had altered, followed what felt like seconds later by Planck’s destruction.
“Status, Ensign Vincent,” Fife asked through a throat from which all moisture had fled.
“The ships surrounding ours have merged into a solid energy field,” Vincent replied.
There was no room for doubt now. They were about to meet the same ignominious end as Planck, and it was Fife’s fault.
Unless he could find a way to escape the energy field now holding his ship, he and his crew were going to die, and he presumably had seconds in which to find an impossible solution.
“Commander,” Url said.
“What is it?”
“Just before Planck was destroyed, the resonance of the energy field surrounding their vessel increased to an extremely high intensity.”
“Your point?”
“The energy field surrounding Demeter is also shifting, sir, but the frequency is lower.”
Fife hardly dared to hope.
“Analysis?”
“We’re moving,” Ensign Falto reported from the helm, before Url could reply.
“I can see that, Ensign,” O’Donnell’s voice said softly from behind Fife. “And can we silence that alarm on the bridge? It’s an emergency. I get that. But I can’t hear myself think.”
Fife turned, fully expecting to face the full force of his captain’s wrath. O’Donnell would not fail to notice who’d had command of the bridge up to this point and had probably damned them all to destruction.
Instead, O’Donnell stood by the tactical station, one hand at his hip, the other scratching the top of his head as he studied Url’s display. Clearly he did not yet appreciate the gravity of the situation. If he had, he would not have looked like a first-year cadet attempting to solve a particularly difficult equation.
Vincent was staring hard at Fife, who nodded in response to his unspoken question. Vincent then silenced the Red Alert Klaxon on the bridge only.
“Planck has been destroyed, Captain,” Fife began, determined not to display a shred of weakness. There would be plenty of time for guilt and recrimination later if they survived the next few minutes.
O’Donnell’s hand left his hip and his forefinger circled a small section of Url’s display. “That’s the wreckage, I presume?”
“Aye, Captain,” Url replied.
“The Children of the Storm approached our position only minutes ago,” Fife went on, hating himself for the attempt at justification he heard in the choice of only in that statement.
O’Donnell remained silent as he tapped a few commands into Url’s station. He then crossed his arms and studied it briefly before finally raising his eyes to meet Fife’s.
“Three hundred forty-seven alien ships appeared out of nowhere, at least as far as our sensors are concerned, and we didn’t think it might be a good idea to try and leave the area as quickly as possible?” he asked. There was no accusation in his question. He seemed genuinely curious.
“Captain Farkas ordered—that is—” Fife stammered.
“She told you to hold position?” O’Donnell requested clarification.
“She felt it would be too dangerous for the fleet to separate.”
“Her estimation of the danger doesn’t seem to have been far off,” O’Donnell agreed, his eyebrows lifting and his eyes widening briefly. He took a small step down to the center of the bridge and came to rest directly beside Fife.
“The aliens have enveloped our ship in some sort of resonance field, similar to but not exactly the same as the one that destroyed Planck,” O’Donnell said as if he were reporting on something less serious than the weather. “And we can’t break free of this field?”
“That’s correct, sir,” Fife replied, wondering how it was possible that absolutely no tension registered on the man, “for now. We’re working on a solution.”
“You might want to take a breath or two, Commander,” O’Donnell suggested softly to Fife. Until he said it, Fife didn’t realize he’d hadn’t inhaled since O’Donnell stepped beside him. “If they wanted us dead, we would be by now,” O’Donnell said with a shrug. “The real question is, where are they taking us?”
“We are headed toward the debris field, Captain,” Falto reported.
“Do we have some sort of distress buoy?” O’Donnell inquired of Vincent.
“Yes, Captain.”
“We should download the logs of the last few hours and drop that here, don’t you think?” O’Donnell said in what sounded more like a suggestion than an order. “I mean, I suppose there’s a chance we might live to see a few more days and that if we’re missed, the rest of the fleet will come looking for all of us.”
“Quirinal will—” Fife began.
“I don’t know, Atlee,” O’Donnell cut him off. “From the looks of Url’s readings, Quirinal has her hands full and might not last as long as we will.”
Fife gave a sharp nod.
O’Donnell turned back, his steps directed toward the bridge’s exit.
“Launch that buoy, forward every iota of data we have about the Children of the Storm to my lab, and somebody let me know when we get wherever we’re going,” he tossed over his shoulder. He added, “Good work, everybody. Nice to see you all keeping your heads in a crisis.”
“Sir?” Fife asked automatically, certain that O’Donnell must be joking.
“That goes for you too, Commander,” O’Donnell replied. At Fife’s expression of disbelief, he continued, “The way I see it, we’re still alive, and while that may have more to do with the aliens than anything you did, I have no doubt that a more aggressive posture would not have served us well. You did your job. Now keep doing it. And if you think you’ve found a way to safely free us from this field, I want to know before we commit to anything.”
With that, he stepped beyond the doors and they hissed closed behind him.
Fife registered the collective disbelief of the bridge crew. After a silent pause, he took the bridge’s center seat and glued his eyes to the main viewscreen.
“Orders, Commander?” Url requested.
“You heard the captain,” Fife replied. “Launch the distress buoy, forward the requested data, and continue to monitor the energy field. If it begins to shift at all, I want to be advised immediately. Continue to analyze for weaknesses and actions we might take to free ourselves from it. Falto, report any course alterations.”
“Aye, sir,” Falto replied.
As Fife’s breathing settled, the mass of conflicting emotions writhing within him resolved into numbness. For now, they were still alive. And that was more than he’d hoped for less than five minutes earlier. He found himself absurdly imagining that O’Donnell’s casual optimism might be warranted. And he might have been able to accept it, had not the explosion that claimed Planck continued to replay in his mind’s eye in a terrifying loop.
Chapter Nine
STARDATE 58453.4
U.S.S. VOYAGER
“There you are,” Lieutenant Conlon greeted B’Elanna, hurrying to catch up with her in the hall.
B’Elanna turned and practically leveled Nancy with the force of her glare.
“Just back from Achilles?” Conlon ventured delicately.
“He’s an ass,” B’Elanna said without preamble. “He’s probably the biggest ass I’ve ever met, and you didn’t think a little fair warning might be in order?”
Conlon tried and failed to hide her smile. This had also been her first assessment of Drafar, but having spent the last three weeks without the need to contact him, she’d almost forgotten the intensity of her initial reaction.
“I try not to speak ill of those who outrank me,” she offered.
“I’m scheduled to meet with Waverly aboard Esquiline after lunch, and he doesn’t outrank you,” B’Elanna said. “Anything I should know about him?”
“Waverly’s great,” Conlon replied without hesitation. “
You’ll love him. But I still can’t put together a complete sentence in front of Captain Dasht.”
“Why not?” B’Elanna asked, probably ready to add another officer to her “trouble” list. Not that Dasht or anyone else could possibly beat out Drafar for the top spot, in Conlon’s opinion.
“He’s gorgeous,” Conlon replied. “Like off-the-charts, nobody-should-really-be-that-good-looking gorgeous. Makes me feel like I’m eleven years old just to stand in the same room with him.”
Now it was B’Elanna’s turn to smile. “I’ll see if I can contain myself,” she replied wryly.
“I’m sure your husband would appreciate that,” Conlon shot back.
“Speaking of …” B’Elanna stopped at the door to her quarters. “Tom and I are going to have lunch together before I head over to Esquiline.”
“I sort of doubt that,” Conlon replied more seriously. “Senior staff has been called to the conference room in half an hour.”
“See you later,” B’Elanna said with a nod, and hurried into her quarters.
To Tom’s great frustration, Miral was meticulously smushing all of the peas on her plate when he looked up to see B’Elanna entering.
“It’s about time,” he remarked before returning his attention to Miral. “No, honey, we’re eating the peas, not playing with them.”
“She likes them that way,” B’Elanna corrected him.
Tom felt an uneasy twinge in his stomach. He’d barely seen Miral in the last two years. How could he possibly be expected to know that? Had he not been counting the seconds until B’Elanna’s return, the remark might not have stung so much.
“You ready to take over?” he asked, choosing to let it pass. He didn’t have time to exchange fire. The hardening of his wife’s face, however, suggested that, like it or not, some fire might be coming.
“I’m sorry I’m a little late,” B’Elanna replied, taking her seat and absentmindedly scooping peas onto Miral’s spoon without taking her eyes from Tom. “But I didn’t think it would be a problem. You could have left Miral with Kula, or just taken her over to Galen.”
It took even more restraint for Tom to refrain from explaining why neither of those options would have worked; Seven had been late returning Miral for lunch and Tom had already advised the Doctor that Miral would not be coming to Galen for the afternoon, given Eden’s new orders. Miral had been famished after a full morning of play with Seven, and even though he was running late, he thought he’d chosen well but clearly not well enough. He took a deep breath and tried to rub the tension out of his forehead.
“We’ve lost three ships, B’Elanna,” he explained. “There’s a quick briefing and then we’re heading off to search for them. Miral’s not going to be able to board Galen, unless you want to leave her behind with the Doctor for the next few days.”
“Absolutely not,” B’Elanna replied decisively.
Another deep breath. Tom could have done with a lot less attitude at the moment.
“I assumed as much, which is why I thought we’d just start lunch. But I really do have to go now.”
“Because your job is more important than mine?” B’Elanna asked testily.
Tom’s restraint met the wall.
“Of course not!” he said, raising his voice, which garnered a look of shock from both his wife and his daughter. Collecting himself a little, he said, “Look, can we do this later?”
“Sure.”
In years past Tom might have taken her at her word, but he knew much better now.
“What’s the problem?” he asked with as little residual frustration as possible.
“Nothing.”
“B’Elanna, this is me trying really hard right now.”
The lines around B’Elanna’s lips softened. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just spent the last few hours with a man who all but came out and accused me of being a lousy mother because I dare to have a career rather than devoting myself twenty-four/seven to Miral’s care.”
“Drafar?”
“Drafar,” B’Elanna echoed disdainfully. “Eat a little chicken now, honey,” she then suggested to Miral.
Tom smiled, glad he’d taken the extra thirty seconds to defuse a tense situation. Watching B’Elanna with Miral, even doing something as mundane as making sure she ate while carrying on a completely separate conversation, was all the evidence he’d ever need of her fitness as a mother. Hell, one look at his daughter was all anyone would need to see that. But he understood B’Elanna’s problem.
“You want me to have him killed?” he asked with mock seriousness.
“Yes,” B’Elanna replied with real seriousness.
“He’s Lendrin, honey.”
“So?”
“Can I explain later?” he asked.
“Yes.” B’Elanna nodded sincerely. “Go.”
“And you know I don’t think either of our jobs is more important than the other, right?”
“I do.”
“It’s just a tough day for scheduling.”
“Probably won’t be the last,” B’Elanna said with a shrug.
“We’re going to make this work.”
“I know. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Tom replied, leaning over to give her a quick kiss before planting another on Miral’s forehead.
He’d almost made it to the door when B’Elanna called to him again.
“Tom?”
He turned. The tension of the last few minutes had evaporated. B’Elanna seemed suddenly quite composed.
“Hm?”
“You personally oversaw the collection of personnel and materials for the fleet, right?”
“Yes,” he replied, a little thrown by the abrupt change of subject.
“Even for Achilles?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t find their cargo unusual in any way?”
Tom thought back. It had been a while, but nothing came to mind.
“No. Are they missing something?”
“No,” B’Elanna replied. She smiled and her eyes brightened, as if to assure him that whatever was on her mind was nothing.
“Are you sure?” Tom asked, trying to understand why her face now unsettled him so.
“Absolutely.” She nodded too heartily. “Forget I asked. Now don’t keep Chakotay waiting.”
Tom left their quarters curious. But that was better than angry. He remained curious until he had turned the last moments of the conversation over in his mind a couple more times in the turbolift. Then he got a little angry again.
B’Elanna was lying to him about something.
• • •
Chakotay had discovered a new favorite place in his ready room. Leaning against the rail that separated his desk from a small sitting area, he had a serene view of the stars beyond the long window that ran along the top of the sofa. As he had yet to personalize the space in any way—he hadn’t exactly planned on staying when he’d first returned to Voyager several weeks ago and had left most of his things back on Earth—the stars were by far the most calming view the room currently afforded.
He wondered if he’d been a little hard on Eden. Not that she couldn’t take it, or didn’t deserve his complete honesty. However, he might be transferring to her the general, and according to Counselor Cambridge, healthy contempt he’d had for Starfleet Command for years now.
He wished he’d known her longer. Despite the few seemingly open conversations they’d shared, he felt the walls surrounding her were nigh impossible to breach. Of course they didn’t need to be close friends in order to work together. But they did need to trust each other, and it was frankly hard for him to do so when Eden held herself at a distance from him.
Trust was a two-way proposition, however, and he considered his words to her in light of the reality that, while open and honest, they’d probably done little to convey the fact that he wanted to trust her, if she would just let him in.
Perhaps if she chose to allow Voyager to begin this search alon
e, it might indicate the seriousness with which she considered his opinions. But he’d known even before he made the suggestion that she would refuse. For all the things he didn’t know about her, he could see that she was driven as passionately in her pursuits as everyone he’d ever known who had achieved her rank and status. Problem was, it was hard to tell what was driving her, and for reasons he found hard to name, that bothered him.
The door chimed and Chakotay reluctantly turned to meet with Tom, calling out, “Enter.”
He was surprised to see Harry standing where he’d expected his first officer to be.
“Harry?” Chakotay said, truly pleased to see him. The last time they’d spoken alone had been days earlier, when Harry had seemed more troubled than Chakotay had ever known him to be. He’d asked for a transfer to Esquiline during that conversation, but had agreed to take a few days to think about it. Despite the fact that Tom had indicated that their counseling session with Cambridge had gone well, and Cambridge considered the problem completely solved, Chakotay would not be convinced until he heard it from Harry. The thought of beginning this search-and-rescue mission without the best chief of security he’d known, aside from Tuvok, was not one he relished.
“I know we’ve got a briefing,” Harry began, “but I wondered if I could have a moment?”
“Always,” Chakotay said sincerely, stepping down from the sitting area to face him.
Harry seemed unsure of himself, and Chakotay’s stomach turned. How did this distance grow between us in less than a year? Chakotay knew well that the fault was mostly his, but he didn’t know how to begin to bridge it. He had already decided that if Harry still wanted to leave, he owed it to both of them to grant his request.
“I just wanted you to know that I’d like to rescind my transfer request,” Harry said, his eyes searching Chakotay’s for his reaction.
Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm Page 12
