Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

by Kirsten Beyer

  “I think you might be wrong about that.”

  Equal parts annoyed and curious, Patel replied, “What is your evidence?”

  Cambridge smiled broadly. “Glad you asked.”

  Returning to his desk, he tossed several padds aside before selecting one and offering it to her. Patel took it, feeling a small tingle of excitement at the prospect of reviewing data that might actually settle a debate that had been raging ever since Captain Jean-Luc Picard had followed a trail of DNA evidence that led to a message from the supposed Progenitor race.

  Patel studied the padd for a few moments. It contained a single genome of an unnamed female, and at first glance, the sequences that must have aroused Cambridge’s curiosity and caused him to seek out a more expert opinion were quite interesting. Naturally, a great deal of the diversity among these sequences was attributable to the fact that they were distinct to each individual, but taken as a whole, it was immediately obvious to Patel that there was something unique about this particular genome. But almost as quickly as her enthusiasm elevated, another unexplainable gut reaction tamped it down. There were few fields as unequivocal as science, particularly genetic studies, but the truly great members of the field had followed their instincts to new discoveries as much as the facts of the evidence before them. Patel had never experienced a moment like this, but the more she looked at the relevant sequences, the more they struck her as somehow unbelievable. Cambridge was waiting expectantly for an analysis, and Patel did not wish to disappoint him, but she didn’t want to lie to him either.

  “May I ask where you obtained this sample?” she asked as neutrally as possible.

  “You may not,” he replied.

  Patel lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry, Counselor,” she finally said, “but there is no way this is a sample of Progenitor DNA.”

  “I didn’t say that it was.”

  “No, but you implied it,” Patel began.

  “Would I be correct in stating that these particular sequences suggest a common humanoid ancestry that predates similar comparative sequences?”

  Patel hesitated, but only a moment. “No, Counselor, you would not.”

  “Explain,” Cambridge demanded.

  “I can’t.”

  Cambridge appeared to be genuinely shocked. “Why not?”

  “Because while on the surface what you are saying could be true, there is something wrong here.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t believe what I’m seeing could possibly have been part of natural selection. It’s too perfect, if that makes sense.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I’m sorry,” she went on. “It’s like looking at a really good copy of an ancient sculpture. Everything about it seems right, but taken as a whole, it’s wrong.”

  “Are you saying that this sample could not be that of a living human being?”

  “No,” Patel replied. “But I have a hard time believing it’s one that evolved naturally.” “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Cambridge said, clearly dismissing her.

  “If I can assist you in any way, Counselor …” Patel began hesitantly.

  “Your thesis showed a spark of original thinking, Lieutenant,” Cambridge seemed to commend her. “I see now, however, that the spark did not, in fact, ignite a flame.”

  With that, he turned away and retreated to a large stack of padds, which he unceremoniously swept from the surface of his desk before seating himself and setting to work on his main data terminal.

  When Patel hesitated, he added, without looking up, “You may go.”

  Devi Patel could not remember ever having been so insulted.

  Commander Tom Paris stared at the main viewscreen, the constant pulsing and regular gyrations of the slipstream corridor before him lulling him into a more relaxed state than he usually enjoyed while on duty. He had agreed to take the watch for Chakotay, knowing it would cost him precious sleep and more precious time with B’Elanna and Miral, but neither he nor the captain were comfortable with the idea of leaving the command to a less senior officer on this night. Harry was set to relieve him in a few hours, after which Chakotay would begin his shift a little early as well.

  Tom spared a glance at the two empty seats on either side of him. After serving aboard Voyager for ten years with only two command seats in the bridge’s center, it was still a little odd to see that third seat. It had been added for the admiral of the fleet or mission specialist’s use and now belonged to Captain Eden.

  As there was absolutely nothing else to focus on for the moment, Tom’s mind began to wander, traipsing through memories of the years that had led him to this moment. A padd on the arm of his chair contained a letter he was constantly updating: a letter to his mother that would only ever be sent in the event of his and/or Miral’s death. In some ways it felt like tempting fate to write it, but the one thing Tom had sworn to himself when he agreed to allow B’Elanna to fake her and Miral’s death in order to end the quest of the Warriors of Gre’thor was that he could lie to his mother in the short term, but not forever.

  His heart broke when he imagined her rambling about his family home alone. The death of his father had taken something from her nothing would ever replace. A light had gone out forever, and the only thing that might have soothed her was the presence of her only granddaughter. But fate, dressed as a sect of Klingon lunatics, had decreed that Julia Paris must also be denied this comfort for now, for her own safety and Miral’s.

  Tom had decided then that he would create a history of all the things Julia was now missing and that, should she outlive them, she would at least one day know the truth of Miral’s life, as best he could tell it.

  The first part of the letter was an apology for the lengths to which he and B’Elanna had gone to protect Miral. He had been truly happy the day he’d been able to add to it the news that despite their earlier intentions, B’Elanna had elected to remain with Tom and Miral on Voyager for the duration of their mission in the Delta Quadrant. Where any of them would go once the mission had ended, he still did not know. But he didn’t trouble himself worrying about it now. Tom knew too well that the best laid plans often went awry, and he was content to allow the future to unfold, rather than trying to bend it to his all too fallible will.

  I learned today that your granddaughter prefers her peas to be smushed, Tom wrote, smiling at the recollection. Nearly everything Miral did was a tiny treasure to him now, after missing so much of her early years. I also learned that no amount of patience is too much for a three-year-old. She has to do everything for herself. Especially things that would go a lot quicker if she’d just let you do them for her. She crinkles her nose when she’s working particularly hard on any task, like mashing up the aforementioned peas.

  I was so worried when B’Elanna and Miral finally got to Voyager that Miral wouldn’t remember me at all. Now it almost feels like we were never apart. She’s commandeered me for bedtime story reading, and between you and me, it is my favorite part of the day.

  We’re about to begin a search-and-rescue mission. B’Elanna and Miral are here, of course. Now I’m wondering, though, if I wouldn’t feel better if I’d left them behind for this one. I think these decisions are only going to get harder as we go. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them, but am I being selfish in wanting to do that in person? I don’t know what we’re going to find tomorrow, but if it managed to destroy our three missing ships and we meet the same fate …

  Here, Tom paused and finally closed the file for the time being. He tried to keep his words light, knowing that they were meant to offer his mother glimpses into his happiness, but more often than not these days, they drifted into darker territory. He had made the choice to leave everything but his wife and daughter behind, and only now understood the price of that choice. Worse, when he considered that by bringing his daughter into this quadrant, he might be exposing her to greater danger, a terrible sense of anxiety welled within him. The fleet had been out here for a l
ittle more than three weeks, and it was possible that their numbers had already been reduced by a third. Had he been risking only his own life now in continuing this mission, he would have been able to justify his choice. But he was also risking Miral’s.

  Should he ever have cause to send this letter while he still lived, he wondered now if he would be able to find for himself the forgiveness he would surely be asking of his mother.

  In his heart of hearts, he doubted it.

  Chapter Twelve

  FIFTEEN DAYS EARLIER

  U.S.S. QUIRINAL

  Aharsh, bitter stinging sensation brought Ganley to consciousness. He coughed automatically, gasping for fresh air, only to choke on his next inhalation. Forcing himself to hold his breath, he crawled through a wasteland of chunks of metal and past various bodies, many of which were also struggling to move, until he reached the emergency masks that lined the wall behind the core. His hands felt like lead and stars were dancing before his eyes, yet he managed to strap a mask in place and finally take a full breath of clean air. His lungs revolted, sending up brownish sputum, but after a few deep breaths, he found himself able to take in the wreckage that had once been main engineering.

  The most obvious alteration was the absence of the large doors that separated the room from the outer hall. Those doors had been reinforced with tritanium. It was hard to believe that the explosion that had turned them into roiling debris had not destroyed the entire ship. The computer interface panels and workstations nearest the doors that were not engulfed in flames were now littered with debris and flashing intermittently. He was relieved to see, however, that the emergency field he had erected around the core had held.

  If it hadn’t, none of us would know the difference, Ganley thought grimly.

  Only then did he realize how incredibly hot it was. The few scattered chemical fires could not account for it. It had to be a result of the explosion that had just occurred, but its intensity was alarming.

  He grabbed as many masks as his arms would hold and immediately began distributing them among his people. A few appeared to be trapped under large pieces of metal, but they were already being assisted by those who had been farthest from the door when the explosion happened. He then hurried to the nearest undamaged console and called up an environmental display. Added to his list of immediate problems were a number of small coolant leaks saturating the air with noxious fumes. The air processors had already detected the presence of toxic atmosphere and were straining to clear the air.

  “Ganley to sickbay,” he called. “Prepare to receive incoming wounded.”

  “I’ll handle that, Chief,” a voice called from behind him, barely piercing the ringing in his ears and sounding kilometers away.

  Turning, Ganley saw Riggs, one hand held over a gash to the side of his blackened and charred face, and the other holding a mask in place over his mouth and nose.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” Ganley replied.

  “Bigger problem, sir,” Riggs said, pointing to a tricorder he held in his hand.

  There Ganley saw a single sphere, fifteen centimeters in diameter, approaching engineering.

  “Get everyone out!” Ganley shouted.

  “Aye, sir,” Riggs replied as Ganley turned his attention to the calculations he had been working on just prior to the explosion. He called up the program he’d written to create a suppression beam. Half of the emitters in the room had been blown to hell, and it took him over a minute to find a portable field emitter, which he stationed as near as he dared to the core. With shaking hands he coded the beam. His initial intent had simply been to stop the sphere’s progress, but now he realized he had to do more than that. No one, least of all he, had understood that the Children’s most destructive weapons were the Children themselves. The small sphere approaching his position contained a blast yield powerful enough to destroy the entire ship if it took the core with it. Less than ten, properly positioned throughout the ship and detonating simultaneously, would have the same result.

  His job now was not only to contain the sphere but to alter the harmonics of the energy shell surrounding it so that it could not detonate.

  Another cough racked his body. He could only hope that Doctor Sal would be able to reverse the damage his lungs had already sustained.

  Eventually, he decided. For now, his duty was to stay put and do whatever it took to keep that sphere from doing to the core what its companion had done to the door. A few moments more, and his program was complete. Now all that remained was to see if it would work.

  “Ganley to Psilakis.”

  “Good … hear … voice, Chief,” came Psilakis’s voice over a garbled channel.

  “I could use some help down here,” Ganley said.

  “Already on … way,” Psilakis replied.

  “I’ve created a suppression beam for the sphere approaching engineering. It’s got a triaxilating frequency that should disrupt the sphere’s energy shell without allowing it to destabilize. We’ve got to keep the rest of these things intact until we can clear them into space.”

  “That much I’d already figured out, Chief,” Psilakis replied.

  “I’m sending you the specs now. If it works, you should be able to use portable emitters to establish similar beams wherever you need them.”

  Before he could continue, a single sphere floated into engineering and came to rest only a few meters from the core. His hands continued to rebel, refusing to calm themselves. It took every ounce of his remaining strength to target the beam and activate it.

  A bright orange light shot forth from the emitter, enveloping the sphere and, to Ganley’s relief, freezing it in its tracks. A quick scan confirmed that the pressure contained within the beam, coupled with the harmonics with which it resonated, had effectively rendered the sphere inert.

  Choking on a sigh, Ganley felt his legs give out. He’d made it this far on adrenaline, but even that was beginning to fail him. His hands resting on the base of the emitter and his eyes glued to the sphere it was now holding in place, Ganley hoped that whoever was coming would hurry.

  Phinn was brought back to consciousness by the sound of a regular deep whoosh.

  “… to Sal. Two more wounded, deck seventeen, section twenty-six.”

  “I’ll find room for them.”

  “There’s no way for me to tell if they’ve been compromised, El’nor.”

  “We’ll transport them in behind a force field until we can determine—”

  “Wait,” Phinn heard himself say as he gingerly pulled himself to his knees. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he insisted.

  Instantly his face was being covered by an emergency respirator. It was hard to tell who was assisting him, as the person slipping the mask’s strap behind his head was wearing a full pressure suit.

  “Make that one to transport.”

  Phinn suddenly recognized the captain’s voice. He turned to see the unconscious figure of Sadie disappear in a shimmer of light.

  “What’s your name?” Farkas asked. Her voice had a sharp, barking quality through the suit’s comm system.

  Phinn rose to address her, suddenly conscious of a number of aching bones and muscles that had been fine only a few moments earlier, as well as the fact that his entire body was soaked with sweat. He suddenly realized how unseasonably warm the corridor had become. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Phinnegan Bryce, Captain,” he replied.

  “Are you security?”

  “Engineering,” Phinn corrected her. “Slipstream specialist, ma’am.”

  “Are you injured?”

  Phinn did a mental check but found nothing beyond the bruises he’d sustained upon meeting the deck at a relatively high rate of speed.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Good,” the captain replied. “I have a feeling a slipstream specialist might come in handy right now. You’re with me,” she ordered.

  “Aye, Captain,” Phinn replied automatically. As they headed toward engineering, he added, “It’s
nice to meet you, Captain Farkas.”

  The captain paused for a moment and turned to face him. Though it was hard to tell for sure, he thought her eyes were a little misty.

  “You too, Bryce,” she replied.

  Phinn nodded, then tensed as Farkas’s eyes grew wide. Sensing danger, he started to turn, but Farkas pushed him roughly to the deck as a burst of phaser fire barely missed the spot where his head had been seconds earlier. Phinn rolled to his back to see where this new threat was coming from. Two crewmen were rushing toward him, phasers raised. One of them was his roommate, Nathan.

  As Phinn struggled to process the sight of his friend pointing a weapon at him, another shot whizzed past and Nathan fell to the deck. Phinn automatically raised his weapon, and though it was an eerie sensation to fire on his own, he managed to hit the other crewman as his last shot when wild, pinging off the deck over Phinn’s shoulder.

  “Was that phaser set to stun?” the captain asked.

  “Yes,” Phinn replied.

  “Good,” she said, helping him to his feet. “You still okay?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t mind knowing who decided this would be a good time for a mutiny.” And how they got Nathan on their side.

  “Some of our people have been compromised by the Children of the Storm. Given the fact that they were firing on us, I think it was a safe bet they were among them. I’m hoping that when we put enough distance between us and the aliens, our people will recover. I want to avoid killing any of them.”

  “Of course,” Phinn replied, checking again over his shoulder before he fell into line behind her as she jogged down the hall.