“So where is your power going?” Conlon asked.
“Sickbay,” Phinn replied. “We would have lost a third of the crew without Doctor Sal,” he went on. “I don’t think she’s slept in two weeks.”
“Doesn’t she have an EMH?” B’Elanna asked.
“Our hologrid pulls way too much power,” Phinn replied. “It was that, or our emergency containment field on deck thirty.”
“What are you containing on deck thirty?” B’Elanna asked.
Phinn’s face fell into the most serious lines B’Elanna had yet seen. “Psilakis didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
Phinn rubbed his nose, then shook his head. “I guess you’ll find out soon enough anyway. We captured and contained ten of the alien spheres. Their destructive capability is too intense to risk freeing them, so we secured them in a containment beam. It’s held in cargo bay eleven behind our last functioning psionic force field. Weird thing was, as soon as we put them in the same room, they merged of their own accord into a single larger sphere. Truth be told, I thought Psilakis should try and find a way to destroy it safely, but he thought it might come in handy.”
B’Elanna took a moment to study Phinn’s board. “You’re diverting fifty-eight percent of your power reserves to that cargo bay. That seems like an awfully high price to pay.”
“You’ll have to take it up with Psilakis,” Phinn replied.
B’Elanna decided she would, the first chance she had.
Chapter Sixteen
FOURTEEN DAYS EARLIER
U.S.S. DEMETER
Fife stood beside Url’s tactical station, speaking under his breath. Demeter’s forward motion had ceased nineteen minutes earlier, but the field surrounding it hadn’t wavered in formation or intensity.
They held position five hundred thousand kilometers from the system’s fourth planet, a little over a hundred and seventy-five million kilometers from the star at the system’s heart.
“I’m telling you, something’s not right,” Fife insisted.
“We have no control over our ship. We just watched one of our sister ships destroyed by a power we barely comprehend and the other barely escape. It’ll be weeks at best before anyone might come to our aid. Nothing is right about any of this, sir,” Url replied.
Though Url wouldn’t necessarily have been his choice in a confidant—Fife had never really had much use for close interpersonal relationships with his crewmates—he needed to talk to someone, and thus far, Url seemed to possess the steadiest hands and head around.
“I’m saying if his behavior becomes more erratic, I might have to relieve him,” Fife said bluntly.
“I’m reasonably sure none of us, including Captain O’Donnell, are at our best right now,” Url said evenly. “But if his behavior should become dangerous, I would, of course, support that decision, Commander.”
It wasn’t the resounding clamor of support Fife had wanted, but it would do for now.
Fife inhaled sharply as O’Donnell ambled onto the bridge. It had been five hours since they had last talked, and the captain had actually expressed something like enthusiasm when he had learned that after almost two days the ship had finally reached its apparent destination.
Perhaps he got some rest, Fife thought bitterly. He was trained to believe that a captain put his crew’s needs before his own. His crew ate, then he ate. They slept, then he slept. Whatever the cause of his incomprehensible temperament, O’Donnell was more than the eccentric genius Admiral Batiste had described to him. He was, in Fife’s estimation, borderline unstable.
And he had absolutely no place commanding a starship, regardless of his rank and experience.
“You have a report for me?” O’Donnell asked with considerably less hostility than he had displayed the last time he and Fife had spoken at length.
“We appear to have arrived at our destination,” Fife said briskly.
O’Donnell turned to study the main viewscreen, which at the moment displayed a calm, star-filled sky.
“What’s special about this location?” he asked of no one in particular.
“We don’t know,” Fife was first to answer.
“The closest planetary body is Class-K, approximately five hundred thousand kilometers from our position,” Url expanded for him. “The system contains seven planets surrounding a common G-type star.”
When O’Donnell turned a quizzical face to Url, he continued. “None of the planets are currently capable of sustaining life of any kind. The Class-K might once have, but there is evidence of some sort of natural catastrophe that would have rendered it uninhabitable, probably hundreds of years ago.”
“Do any of the planets appear to be the home of the Children?” O’Donnell asked.
“No, sir,” Url replied. “There are two gas giants present, and it has been hypothesized that the Children of the Storm originated in a gas giant, but neither of them possess compatible atmospheric conditions.”
“So why do they live here?” O’Donnell asked.
“Forgive me, Captain,” Url said, “but we don’t know that they do.”
“They must have brought us here for a reason,” O’Donnell suggested.
“That reason remains a mystery,” Url said.
“I see,” O’Donnell said as he took the center seat, which rotated on its base, and turned to face his tactical officer. “But for how long?” he asked.
When no one answered, he said, “Computer, display file O’Donnell COS Alpha on the main viewscreen. If something more interesting comes up, you’ll let us know, Lieutenant,” he said, nodding to Url, “but in the meantime, I want to go over what I’ve learned about our captors in the last few days. Unless anyone has a better suggestion, of course,” he directed toward Fife.
“Of course not, sir,” Fife answered automatically.
Clearing his throat, O’Donnell began, “This sphere is typical of those which first approached our position.” The image of the sphere was suddenly filled with hundreds of tiny multicolored points of light. “The computer confirms that each sphere contains hundreds of distinct sentient lifeforms, encased in an energy shell, source unknown. The atmosphere within each shell is composed of superhot liquid metal hydrogen and other trace metals. None of them are necessary for life as we know it to exist, so we’re clearly dealing with some form of extremophile.”
After a moment spent studying the bridge crew’s faces for a perceptible reaction, he said, “Am I the only one who finds that amazing?”
“It might be more amazing if we weren’t at their mercy right now,” Fife said.
“Fair enough,” O’Donnell agreed. “Moving on. Clearly they possess extraordinary telekinetic abilities. I have not been able to detect a distinct means of propulsion either in the spheres or in their conjoined formation. I have also studied our sensor logs to better understand the incredible speeds we have witnessed from the spheres, given that they lack obvious propulsion systems, as well as their ability to fool our sensors.”
“And?” Url asked.
“I believe the energy shell is organized and sustained by the individual thoughts of the life-forms. I also believe they might be capable of traveling great distances by ‘thinking’ their way there.”
“You’re saying one minute they’re one place and they can just decide to be somewhere else and that’s where they appear next?” Fife asked in disbelief.
“More or less.”
“That’s impossible,” Fife decided.
“When you have a better working hypothesis, Commander, I’ll be all ears,” O’Donnell replied.
“Actually, if you imagine a ship like ours with impulse, warp, and slipstream propulsion capabilities, it’s not all that different,” Url said.
“No,” O’Donnell agreed. “We use our engines to bend space. They use their telekinetic abilities to do so.”
“So why don’t they do that all the time?” Url asked.
“Perhaps, as with us, it takes an enormous amount of energy
to achieve that result. Linear travel would be less demanding. They might use their high-speed abilities only in situations of great need or danger.”
Url seemed to consider the possibility, then nodded.
O’Donnell continued, “The computer can also accurately read several distinct resonance frequencies among the individual life-forms within each sphere. The only time the frequencies resonate in harmony are in the highest bands, those that show as violet in the example before you. The field that destroyed Planck was composed entirely of violet-hued life-forms. In the individual spheres, however, dozens of different frequencies are present.”
“Which suggests what?” Fife asked, finally legitimately intrigued.
“If we think of each sphere like one of our starships,” O’Donnell suggested, “it is possible that the different hues represent different functions within the sphere.”
“So they have command officers, helmsmen, tactical, positions?” Fife asked.
“Possibly,” O’Donnell said. “There is no way for me to classify the distinct frequencies, but their existence suggests some sort of necessary specialization.”
“I agree,” Url said.
“Thank you,” O’Donnell replied amiably. “The formation currently surrounding Demeter has resonated in the orange range as we have traveled.”
“Can an individual life-form change its frequency?” Fife asked. “Have we observed a tactical officer assume command, for instance?” he almost teased, eliciting nervous laughter from everyone on the bridge short of O’Donnell.
“No,” the captain replied with a faint smirk. “I think that’s why it was necessary for so many spheres to merge when they surrounded Planck and Demeter. The individuals inhabiting the merged spheres that did not resonate at the necessary frequency actually seemed to disappear as the spheres merged. They either escaped undetected, which I doubt, or they sacrificed themselves for the greater good. As seen from their point of view, of course,” he added with emphasis.
Silence enveloped the bridge as everyone began to digest the captain’s findings. Finally Fife asked, “How much of this is supposition, Captain?”
O’Donnell appeared almost offended by the suggestion. When he didn’t respond immediately, Fife said, “I mean, you’ve had days while Starfleet’s finest xenobiologists had months to examine Aventine’s data before our mission was launched.”
“Those scientists had data on two spheres that were within sensor range for minutes. I’ve been able to study hundreds of spheres visible to our sensors for hours, along with new observations about their propulsion capabilities and destructive potential,” O’Donnell replied evenly. After a moment he added, “And I am, after all, me.”
This elicited a welcome round of light laughter from the bridge crew, as Fife felt his face growing red.
“Captain,” Url interrupted, “hundreds of signals are incoming.”
“Here ends the lesson.” O’Donnell nodded. “On-screen.”
Just as Url had indicated, masses of spheres were approaching Demeter. Fife found the sight absolutely terrifying.
“Url, would it be possible to program the computer to display the resonance frequencies of the individuals contained in each of the spheres approaching?” O’Donnell asked.
Before he could respond, Fife cut him off. “Belay that. Captain, if the spheres that brought us here did not contain enough of the destructive individuals, these could be their reinforcements.”
“In which case, we’re all about to die, Commander,” O’Donnell said flatly. “But even if that’s true, we might at least see it coming.”
“The program is complete, and now visible on-screen, Captain,” Url said, ending debate and casting a harsh glance at Fife.
The spheres continued their approach, now speeding toward them filled with bright variations all along the color spectrum.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” O’Donnell asked of no one in particular.
“And deadly,” Fife reminded him.
“Goes without saying,” O’Donnell noted.
At last, they came to rest several thousand meters short of Demeter.
“They have surrounded us, Captain, but they are holding their distance for now,” Url reported.
“Brill to the bridge,” a gravely voice called over the comm.
“Go ahead,” O’Donnell sighed.
“Captain, I’m in aeroponics bay one and I think you should see this.”
O’Donnell rose. “On my way. Atlee, the bridge is yours. Everybody enjoy the view until I get back.”
As he exited the bridge, Url turned to Fife, who was already moving to take the center seat. In a low voice he said, “I don’t know about you, but I see nothing at all unstable about the man. It took him all of a day and a half to give us more information about this species than the rest of Starfleet could come up with in the months they had before this mission started.”
Fife nodded compliantly, but all he could think was, For now. The only thing he wanted to know about the Children of the Storm was how to destroy them, and on that point, Captain O’Donnell had been entirely silent.
O’Donnell met no ghosts on the short trip to the aeroponics bay. His mind was focused on his analysis of the aliens; there was simply no room for the darkness to find purchase.
All he had to do now was keep it that way until Alana graced him with her return. In the interim, he would do all he could to prove himself worthy of her attention.
Ensign Brill, one of his botanical specialists, was waiting for him at the door to the bay, a long room lined with hanging aeroponics vessels stationed above tracks of humidifiers.
O’Donnell actually gasped at his first sight of the vessels.
“This is—” he began.
“Impossible, I know,” Brill replied.
As late as yesterday morning, every one of the dozens of vessels had held seedlings and plants with bare branches that optimistically wouldn’t have been expected to flower, let alone bear fruit for at least another two weeks. The first harvest of this bay had been completed a little early to provide Planck with the resources they requested.
But now, O’Donnell stared open-mouthed at vibrant ornamental blooms pouring out of the first two tracks, and plump, ripe fruit bursting from branches and vines along the rest. It might have been his imagination, but he believed several of the tomatoes, grapes, and figs were growing larger before his very eyes.
Brill stepped in to answer his unspoken question.
“The increase in growth rate was detected several hours ago. I just came back to check on them, and this is what I found.”
“You’re telling me we went from seeds to fruit in hours?”
“Yes, Captain.”
O’Donnell’s mind immediately began to spin hypotheses to explain this disturbing development. Only one seemed to have any merit at all. He’d never seen growth affected by telekinesis, but then again, he’d never seen anything else faintly resembling the Children of the Storm.
“Why would they do this?” he asked aloud.
“Who, sir?” Brill asked.
“The Children, obviously,” O’Donnell replied, moving briskly to the nearest data terminal, where the growth rates of the last several hours were prominently displayed.
“O’Donnell to the bridge,” he called.
“Fife here, sir.”
“Give me a current image of the spheres that have surrounded us. Patch it through to the main terminal in aeroponics one.”
“Aye, sir.”
Moments later, O’Donnell watched as the spheres began to spin and gyrate along their individual axes. The various colors within them—oranges, reds, yellows, lavenders—all increased in vibrancy with the motion, and within minutes they had begun to move gracefully among each other, gliding, diving, spinning upward with ever increasing speed and intensity.
He could almost feel their delight.
He looked again at the vessels to see tendrils begin to droop under the weight of the fruit an
d blooms they bore.
“Captain, as you can see, their configuration is changing, but we can’t determine a cause,” came Url’s tense voice over the comm.
“I can,” O’Donnell replied.
“Sir?”
“They’re dancing, Ensign. For joy, unless I’m mistaken.”
A memory, so vivid that the event might have occurred yesterday, shot to the forefront of O’Donnell’s mind. When he was seventeen, he had first learned of the Goldroni kurnit. This staple of the Goldronians’ diet had refused to yield a third of normal quantities, due primarily to a series of prolonged rainy seasons. The inhabitants had come to the Federation seeking aid. Liam had worked tirelessly for a year, creating tens of thousands of hybrid varieties until he found one that could endure the rain. The day he had presented his hybrid to the Goldronian prefect, he had been hailed as a hero and secured his place forever among elite botanical geneticists. More important, his work had ignited the passion that would drive him to this very day—a passion that had only dimmed in the years he spent on Kressari.
The pure happiness he had felt when genetic analysis confirmed the stability of the hybrid had been rivaled only by the serenity he’d known the day he and Alana had been sealed before Kressari’s High Anointed.
He somehow doubted that these, the most powerful moments of his past, could rival what the Children of the Storm seemed to be experiencing in their current revels.
It was at that moment that the most alien species he had ever encountered became something more than a dangerous curiosity, or a problem to be solved.
It was at that moment that Liam O’Donnell learned that he shared with these strange dancing spheres a small shred of common ground.
The spectacle lasted for less than an hour. During that time, O’Donnell moved through each of Demeter’s labs, confirming the exponential growth of thousands of seeds, including dozens of exotic ornamentals that only now proved their viability.
Finally, spurred by a sense of heady elation, he entered his private lab, where several of his experimental samples of Crateva religiosa-Kressari waited in growth solutions. To his dismay, none of them showed the same growth as the rest of Demeter’s stocks.
Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm Page 21
