Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

by Kirsten Beyer

  At the blank or hostile stares of the others, Cambridge asked, “Don’t they call themselves the Children of the Storm?”

  “Yes,” Harry replied.

  “So where in the universe are their parents?” Cambridge asked.

  U.S.S. VOYAGER

  Chakotay found Seven and Patel’s briefing fascinating, as usual, but at the end of fifteen minutes was less convinced than Counselor Cambridge that the most significant issue now before them was to discover the source from which the aliens had originated.

  Captain Eden, on the other hand, was taking a more serious interest in the question.

  “Are we certain that there are no likely candidates for the Children’s ‘mother’ in the system surrounded by the debris field?” she asked.

  “We are,” Seven replied. “Even the cursory scan we were able to run while retrieving the buoy gave us complete readings of the seven planets contained in that system. Neither of the gas giants located there contains similar atmospheres to the one that sustains the Children.”

  “And we’re looking for a gas giant because …?” Eden asked.

  “The contents of the atmosphere contained within the individual spheres most closely resembles that of a gas giant,” Patel answered.

  “If we wanted to find their mother, do we know what we need to be looking for?” was Eden’s next question.

  “Yes.” Seven nodded. “But I believe our odds of finding this ‘mother’ may be slim.”

  “Why?”

  “We cannot precisely determine the age of the Children, but given their resilience, it is possible that they have survived for thousands of years. The creature or creatures that gave rise to them could easily have died out during that time,” Seven said.

  “Which might also have been a factor in their migration to the system which they now consider their own,” Patel added.

  “Their age, then, apparently has little correlation to their maturity,” Cambridge noted.

  “You believe they are behaving like the children they call themselves?” Chakotay asked.

  “I confess, I find myself at something of a loss to explain their choice of a designation, but if, as Seven suggests, they have existed for centuries, one does wonder if they even have a concept for maturation. Consider the single-mindedness with which they approach their work. Clearing their space of the Borg cannot have been easy, but clearly they persevered. Any experience gained in the process, however, did little to engender in them even the most basic curiosity about other species. They demand to be left alone, and when their demands aren’t met, they throw a tantrum. I don’t care how long they’ve lived, from a developmental point of view, they are, in fact, children. Unfortunately, it is often true that wisdom does not always follow on the heels of age.”

  “And the best person to tend to an unruly child is usually its parent, isn’t it?” Eden asked.

  “Unless the parent is psychotic,” Cambridge agreed.

  “We could waste a lot of time looking for this ‘mother,’” Chakotay noted pointedly.

  “We do have another option,” Seven added.

  “What’s that?” Eden asked.

  “We are holding several hundred captives. Perhaps we could trade them for the safe release of Demeter.”

  As Eden considered this, Chakotay asked, “Do we have any idea why Demeter might have been spared in the first place?”

  When no one ventured a guess, Cambridge spoke up. “They said they wanted ‘the life.’”

  “All three vessels contained numerous life-forms,” Eden said.

  “Pardon me,” the counselor replied, “I meant the simple life.”

  “You’re referring to the botanical specimens contained aboard Demeter?” Chakotay asked. “What use does a noncorporeal life-form have for plants and flowers?”

  Cambridge shrugged. “I’m not sure, but we would do well to take them at their word. They wanted Demeter badly enough to destroy Planck and all but destroy Quirinal. Clearly there was some value there.”

  “That’s quite a leap, Counselor,” Chakotay observed.

  “Not really,” Seven said, though it clearly caused her pain to find herself in accord with Cambridge.

  “How so, Seven?” the counselor asked, smiling congenially.

  “We know the Children first encountered the Borg centuries ago. My memories from the Collective do not include the system or species, but it is likely that the Borg entered their territory in order to extract raw materials from it.”

  “The Children would have been of no interest to the Borg,” Cambridge said, nodding as if a light switch had just been thrown in his head.

  “They were not candidates for assimilation,” Seven went on. “But the system must once have contained resources the Borg found desirable enough to send thousands of cubes to capture.”

  “If, centuries ago, any of the system’s planets were capable of sustaining simple life-forms, and the Borg came along to strip-mine them, the Children might have found their actions contemptible enough to wage war on the scale we’ve witnessed,” Cambridge said. “They obviously have a disdain for complex life-forms.”

  “They called us ‘destroyers of worlds,’” Eden said thoughtfully.

  “But perhaps they found some sort of intrinsic value in more simple life-forms.”

  “Any planet where flora and fauna thrive would also have contained countless microbial life-forms which would have shared some common traits with the Children,” Patel agreed.

  “You think they were friends?” Chakotay asked.

  “Probably more like curiosities,” Patel replied. “The Children may not understand themselves to be conjoined life-forms. They might not even remember how they came to be. But if they do, and they detected other single-cell or basic life-forms, they might have tried to make contact with them or find a way to instill them with sentience, in the same way the organism first joined with the parasitic consciousness.”

  “Until the Borg came along and destroyed the worlds on which those life-forms thrived,” Cambridge said.

  After a moment, Patel noted, “It’s still hard to believe this species so savagely destroyed the Borg.”

  “But we forget it at our peril,” Eden said decisively.

  “Captain?” Chakotay asked, sensing with considerable unease where Eden’s thoughts were headed.

  “Apart from the psionic force field, which would only protect our crew, we have no defense ready for that merged energy field that destroyed Planck. Attempting a rescue of Demeter, even with our hostages, which they may or may not be willing to bargain for, still seems impossible.”

  “We don’t know right now if Demeter is still intact, but if it is, we can’t let the crew struggle on alone indefinitely,” Chakotay said.

  “And we can’t simply sacrifice ourselves on a mission we could not possibly hope to survive,” Eden countered.

  “They are vulnerable to our phasers,” Chakotay reminded her. “We could make it worth their while to consider an alternative to further hostilities.”

  “The Borg had phasers and torpedoes and likely dozens of other conventional weapons they must have used against the Children,” Eden shot back. “For all the good it did them.”

  When no one seemed inclined to argue further, Eden said, “Seven, begin long-range scans for any possible planets that could contain the Children’s mother. In the meantime, I think we should ask Ensign Lasren to attempt to make contact with our captives. Unless anyone thinks we can learn any more about them without their input?” she asked of everyone present.

  As the silence in the room stretched out, it was clear to Chakotay that no one did. He just wished he could offer a more compelling reason to throw caution to the wind and go after Demeter immediately, as he believed Kathryn would have done when faced with the choices before them. The only justification he had at the moment was his gut instinct that if Demeter was still in one piece, she was living on borrowed time.

  U.S.S. QUIRINAL

  Ensign
Kenth Lasren stood completely still as Doctor Sharak, Voyager’s CMO, placed the neurological scanner in the center of his forehead and activated it. After studying its various bleeps and flashing lights for a few more seconds, he said in his low, pleasantly melodic voice, “The device is functioning at best possible configuration.”

  At which point Lasren’s nervous system completely betrayed him and he broke into a nervous, cold sweat.

  Doctor Sal shot a questioning glance toward Captain Eden. “Does he mean it’s working?” she said softly.

  “He does,” Eden replied. “Doctor Sharak is the first member of the Tamarian species to accept a commission with Starfleet, as well as the first to master Federation Standard. We are lucky to have him serving with us.”

  Though Sal raised a dubious eyebrow at Eden’s suggestion that he had “mastered” the language, she extended her hand to greet her fellow doctor.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said congenially.

  “It is,” Sharak replied, just as graciously, then added, “To meet you, of course.” Turning to Eden, he said, “I will monitor the ensign’s neurological stability while he attempts to speak with the aliens.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Doctor,” Eden replied.

  All four of them stood outside the cargo bay where hours earlier, Seven, Harry, and Patel had analyzed the sphere. Lasren was honored by the confidence of the fleet’s commander in asking him to undertake this mission. His past study of other telepathic species, as well as the actions of the Children of the Storm up to this point, however, left him more than a little frightened at the prospect of opening his mind to them.

  As a Betazoid, he doubted his ability to communicate directly with the Children, unless they were able to initiate it. Though he could easily share his thoughts with other Betazoids, direct telepathy outside his species had never been one of his strong points. Should the Children possess strong enough emotions, he would be able to translate them fairly clearly.

  And should they be as angry as I would at being held prisoner, they might just enter my mind and destroy as many brain cells as possible before I can be transported to safety, Lasren worried silently.

  “Are you ready, Ensign?” Eden asked.

  “Absolutely, Captain,” Lasren replied, hoping that apart from the beads of perspiration rolling down his forehead, Eden would find no reason to doubt him. Reaching out a little, he sensed only concern for him, along with a steadying dose of faith in his abilities.

  “We’ll be keeping a close eye on you, young man,” Sal offered. “At the first sign of trouble, we’ll have you out in no time.”

  Lasren offered Doctor Sal a faint smile. The concern rolling off her in waves eclipsed that of Captain Eden, but her experiences to date with the Children had traumatized her in ways she was not yet admitting to herself. Still, Lasren was grateful to have her there. He had no reason to doubt Sharak’s abilities, but a split second lost while Voyager’s doctor translated his readings into the words that would convey an emergent problem might be more than his mind could handle. It didn’t help that Tamarians were harder for him to read than many other humanoid species. The only thing he got from Sharak at the moment was faint anticipation tinged with curiosity and excitement.

  Eden placed a steadying hand on Lasren’s shoulder, then tapped her combadge. “Eden to transporter room one,” she called to Voyager. “Transport Ensign Lasren inside the cargo bay.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Sal had deemed it absolutely unsafe for the psionic field surrounding the bay to be lowered even for the moment it would take Lasren to cross the room’s threshold. Transporting him directly inside would eliminate the risk to everyone but him. He took a deep breath as he felt the transporter take hold of him.

  The moment he was released into the room, the pain slicing into his head dropped him to his knees. He felt his arms lifting from his sides of their own accord, but quickly regained enough control of them to bring them to the sides of his head. His only coherent thought was to keep his brain in place, though a sticky fluid meeting his fingers suggested it might be attempting to escape through his ears.

  A low wail sounded all around him. Several seconds later, he realized it was coming from his mouth. The sensations bombarding him were so powerful as to be completely overwhelming, but through the anger he could clearly perceive came another, more powerful feeling.

  Despair.

  A few moments more, and the excruciating physical and emotional torment had vanished. He was vaguely aware of strong arms lifting him onto a biobed. His vision cleared long enough for him to recognize the ceiling of Voyager’s sickbay and Doctor Sharak’s face over him as the neurological scanner was removed and a cool hypospray hissed into his neck.

  Around him, soft voices floated in and out of his consciousness as the experience he had just endured unraveled itself in his mind.

  U.S.S. VOYAGER

  “I told you it was too dangerous,” Sal chastised Captain Eden. Doctor Sharak had been capably tending to Lasren from the moment the emergency transport to Voyager’s sickbay had been completed.

  “We had to try,” Eden replied tensely.

  “Those things don’t understand anything but destruction,” Sal went on, clearly not mollified.

  Eden understood Sal’s frustration. The last few weeks would have driven anyone in her position to the brink. And Lasren’s still, pale face, marred by drying blood that had oozed from his ears almost as soon as he’d entered the cargo bay, had her questioning her decision to try to communicate with the inhabitants of the sphere.

  But more was at stake here than Lasren’s life, and she knew it.

  Doctor Sharak moved quietly to join them.

  “He will thrive,” he said simply.

  “There is no permanent damage?” Eden asked, noting a faint huff of disgust from Sal.

  “No,” Sharak confirmed. Turning to Sal, he asked, “Are you in need of wellness?”

  “I’d say we could all use a little wellness right now, Doctor,” Sal replied.

  Sharak considered her for a moment. His mottled face betrayed no expression, but his eyes were filled with compassion.

  “Do not fear, Doctor,” he said softly. “To attempt to communicate with a species so different from your own brings risk. But once the distance is bridged, it can also bring great reward.”

  Sal softened a little at his words.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I’ve lived long enough to know you’re right, and to know better. Sometimes the reward is never worth the risk.”

  “I disagree,” Sharak replied. “As did Ensign Lasren.”

  “That poor kid was ordered to take the risk,” Sal corrected him, “and he was terrified to enter that room, or didn’t either of you notice?”

  “But that is the definition of courage,” Sharak countered. “He accepted the order even with his fear.”

  “I’m not saying he wasn’t brave,” Sal replied. “Just that he didn’t really have a choice.”

  “He chose to serve among the stars,” Sharak said, bristling.

  “And was probably hoping to serve with senior officers who would protect him,” Sal said flatly.

  “Sadly, that is not always the first concern of a captain,” Sharak replied. “Sometimes for all to thrive, one must risk.”

  “Spare me the ‘needs of the many’ argument,” Sal shot back. “I’ve seen too many people die in the last few weeks and months to find it terribly compelling.”

  “One of our greatest captains died to bring understanding between our people and yours,” Sharak said sternly. “He did not think his sacrifice vain or unwarranted. There is no greater calling.”

  Sal was about to continue arguing the point when Lasren began to stir. Eden moved instantly to his side and automatically took his hand in hers as she spoke to him.

  “Gently, Ensign,” she said softly.

  His eyes fluttered open and finally met hers.

  “Wow,” was his fi
rst word.

  Eden smiled automatically. “How do you feel?”

  “Actually, fine,” Lasren replied, clearly surprised. After taking a quick physical inventory, he attempted to push himself up to a seated position.

  “Doctor?” Eden turned to Sharak, concerned.

  Sharak returned to Lasren’s side and ran a tricorder over his body. “As I said, he thrives,” he assured Eden.

  Lasren’s next question took Eden by complete surprise.

  “Is there a way to modulate the psionic field?”

  “Why?” Eden asked.

  “Is it possible?” Lasren asked again more intently.

  “Sure,” Sal said, moving closer. “But it’s not like we’ve tested the thing completely. It would be hard to know if there is a safer setting than maximum, and I can’t imagine that you’d volunteer to be a guinea pig again.”

  “We have to try, Captain,” Lasren practically implored Eden.

  “What happened to you in there?” the captain asked.

  “It hurt,” Lasren replied. “I guess that was obvious. But I did get one very strong impression though the pain.”

  “Which was?”

  “I think they’re dying, Captain.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  ELEVEN DAYS EARLIER

  U.S.S. DEMETER

  It’s going to have to be some version of Paspalidium constrictum, probably crossed with Festuca ovina, given the temperatures. What do you think, Alana?

  Liam had been working his new puzzle for four days with barely a few hours sleep, but having finally settled on what he believed was the best possible solution, he half hoped to hear a little encouragement.

  Alana remained stubbornly silent.

  That’s all right, darling. Whenever you’re ready, Liam replied to the silence. Although the loneliness of the hours without her was palpably painful, he would endure. He’d suffered worse on her behalf in the hours leading up to her death.

  His one-sided discussion was interrupted by Fife’s requesting entrance to his private lab.

  “What is our status?” O’Donnell asked briskly. He’d kept a casual eye on hourly status reports since the continuous planting regimen had begun, and though the Children were cycling through their supplies even more quickly than he’d first estimated, he was finally nearing the light at the end of the tunnel.