Star Trek: Voyager - 041 - The Eternal Tide

by Kirsten Beyer

  Suddenly Patel’s voice piped up from her station. “Reading three additional interphasic disruptions.”

  Kim called out, “Three additional, no, fifteen additional Tarkon sentries now engaging.”

  “Damn,” Tom whispered softly.

  “An energy net has been established,” Kim continued. “TS Flyer Six has been surrounded.”

  Tom tensed. “That’s Purifoy.”

  “TS Flyers Eleven and Nineteen have gone to his aid,” Kim reported. “Two Tarkon vessels destroyed. TS Flyer Six is clear.”

  “For how long?” Tom muttered.

  “Commander Paris,” Chakotay said sternly, “what is the status of our sensor link with Achilles?” What he thought was, Focus, Tom.

  Paris did a quick check of his display and said, “The nebula is interfering with the link—a loss of ten to nineteen percent.” The slightly chagrined look that accompanied his words made it clear that he understood Chakotay’s unspoken command.

  “That’s what B’Elanna expected, right?” Chakotay asked.

  “She was hoping for less than seven percent,” Tom replied. “We should have a stable link once Achilles moves clear of the nebula.”

  Chakotay knew the TS Flyers were acquitting themselves well out there, but he didn’t think they could hold on for much longer.

  “Captain,” Kim called out. “Ten of the Tarkon ships have broken off and are in pursuit of Voyager. Five TS Flyers are following.”

  “Lasren?” Chakotay asked.

  “Two minutes and forty seconds to transporter range.”

  “Will the Tarkon vessels overtake us before that?” Chakotay demanded.

  “It’s going to be close,” Kim replied.

  • • •

  Beads of perspiration were forming along Lieutenant Nancy Conlon’s forehead as she worked furiously to stabilize the sensor link between Voyager and Achilles. The engineer expected the current lag to clear as Achilles moved closer to the fringes of the nebula, but she knew every second was going to count for the plan to work.

  The problems she and B’Elanna had faced in the last few hours had been staggering. Voyager did not have enough transporter pads to accommodate forty-seven people at once. But Chakotay had been adamant they would have only one chance. Once they had been advised that Achilles would be joining Voyager, B’Elanna had stopped referring to Chakotay by numerous colorful Klingon epithets. With Achilles’ help, she was certain that what had been impossible would be no problem at all.

  Commander Drafar had been a hard sell, but he clearly knew B’Elanna well enough not to discount out of hand any suggestion she made. Achilles didn’t have enough individual transporter pads for forty-seven people either, but B’Elanna believed that their cargo transporters could be modified to safely lock onto Riley’s people and collect all of them in one fell swoop. The fact that cargo transporters weren’t rated for personnel transport didn’t trouble B’Elanna in the least. Conlon had already learned that much of B’Elanna’s reputation had a great deal to do with her ability to use whatever was at hand, whether it had been designed to perform the function she required of it or not.

  B’Elanna and Drafar had spent the bulk of the last two hours modifying the Achilles’ transporters and running simulations. The real problem was getting Achilles into transporter range, establishing a lock, and dropping their shields without getting blown up by the Tarkons, who no one believed would take kindly to the presence of the Federation ships. In addition, Achilles taking the lead would leave the TS Flyers vulnerable for far too long.

  It was at this point that Conlon had suggested that Voyager’s transporter system could be modified to act as a relay for Achilles. Once Voyager was in position to establish the sensor lock, the necessary data could be transmitted to Achilles through a shielded sensor beam . Voyager would not have to drop its shields in order to establish the lock, so it would be less vulnerable to the Tarkons. Achilles’ systems would then complete the transport, leaving Drafar close enough to the TS Flyers to be able to collect them once transport had been completed.

  Conlon would not have made the suggestion had she realized that both Achilles and Voyager were planning to begin the operation from within a section of the Nekrit Expanse that was a Class 9 nebula. Once both ships were clear of the nebula, the sensor lock could be established, but Conlon had assumed she would have the opportunity to perfect the relay system well before this critical moment. As it was, she was constantly reconfiguring the system on the fly, while Voyager evaded the Tarkons.

  B’Elanna’s focused composure should have been reassuring; instead, Conlon found it maddening. As she wiped the sweat from her eyes, B’Elanna was working calmly to minimize the width of the annular confinement beams. The subjects being transported were all located several meters below the planet’s surface, adding another layer of complication to a plan that was already fraught with possible disasters.

  Conlon sneaked a peek at B’Elanna’s controls and said with awe, “You could transport a single grain of dust from the surface with that setting.”

  B’Elanna smiled briefly. “It’s a modified skeletal lock,” she replied.

  “A what?”

  “Something I came up with years ago, but solving this has forced me to push it to new limits. It’s designed to lock onto specific mineral components when life-sign readings are inconclusive.”

  “And you’re assuming they’re going to be?” Conlon asked.

  “There are over two hundred thousand people on the western continent. We’re looking for forty-seven needles in a haystack, with nothing to distinguish them from the other needles that are walking around on the surface above them,” B’Elanna replied. “I’m opting for a level of detail here we wouldn’t normally require.”

  Conlon shook her head and returned her attention to her panel. “And while a thing of beauty, it will all be for nothing if I can’t get this sensor lock stable.”

  B’Elanna shifted her eyes to Conlon’s display and said, “Reroute power from these reserves.” She indicated two noncritical systems. Conlon did as instructed, and the readings fell to within one percent of optimal.

  Both relieved and annoyed for not reaching the same conclusion first, Conlon said, “You know, there are moments working with you when I really don’t like you very much.”

  “You’re welcome.” B’Elanna smiled, then hailed Achilles.

  “Voyager to Achilles. Captain Drafar, thirty seconds to transport. Stand by.”

  “Voyager, we will clear the nebula in ten seconds,” Drafar replied. “Achilles, standing by.”

  Nothing like cutting it really, really close, Conlon thought.

  • • •

  The next several seconds were a blur for Lieutenant Harry Kim. Once he had locked phasers on the Tarkons, they instantaneously perceived the threat and broke formation. The vessels targeted their forward weapons systems on Voyager as their energy nets dispersed.

  The ship shuddered, and shields fell by twenty percent during the first barrage.

  Harry checked his readings as the sentries regrouped for another attack run. “Ten more Tarkon vessels have broken off pursuit of the TS Flyers and are approaching our position,” he alerted the bridge calmly. “Two more direct hits like that and our forward shields will go,” he added.

  “B’Elanna, what is your status?” Chakotay called.

  After a few moments of silence during which Harry was certain he aged a year or two, B’Elanna’s voice rang out clearly, “Transport complete, Captain.”

  Chakotay didn’t waste a moment.

  “Gwyn, set course to rendezvous with Achilles and prepare to go to slipstream velocity. Harry, lay down cover fire .”

  “Aye, Captain,” both replied in near unison.

  What followed was one of the most frenetic battle scenarios Harry had ever endured. Phasers were fired under automatic control, since the computer could read and compensate for the speed of the Tarkon ships more quickly. The tactical officer was manua
lly targeting photon torpedoes, focusing on the carrier vessels, but it felt like he was swatting gnats. It didn’t matter how many he took out; within seconds, more were taking their place.

  Achilles was laying down cover fire, but Voyager was taking a beating because it had placed itself between the larger ship and the Tarkons.

  Harry had confirmed nineteen of the forty-five Tarkon vessels destroyed when eight more had managed to re-form their energy nets. They were approaching Voyager from both fore and aft, and he was forced to conclude that one of them was likely to catch their prey.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” Chakotay called to Gwyn. “Harry, get the forward ships out of our way.”

  “Achilles reports all TS Flyers aboard,” Lasren cut through the chaos as Harry manually targeted the center of the energy web with a photon torpedo spread.

  His aim was true, but as Voyager moved toward the explosion, it took a pounding that sent shockwaves throughout the ship, in spite of Gwyn’s struggles to maneuver through the force. One move Harry had mastered, in the years he had spent as the tactical officer and chief of security, was holding on to the sides of his station when it counted.

  “Shields down to ten percent,” Harry called as he attempted to get a lock on the Tarkon vessels in pursuit. He might have imagined it, but he thought he sensed a sluggishness in the ship’s responsiveness.

  “Helm, maximum speed to slipstream jump coordinates,” Chakotay ordered. “Is Achilles still with us?” he asked of Tom.

  “Yes, Captain,” the first officer replied.

  Harry estimated they’d be clear in the next twenty seconds. The moment Voyager engaged its warp drive, the Tarkons directly behind them did the same, but the energy net was no longer pulling Voyager toward it.

  “All hands, prepare to go to slipstream velocity,” Gwyn called from the conn.

  Harry continued to deploy torpedoes, until Gwyn had completed her countdown. He had no idea how many Tarkons had lost their lives as the slipstream corridor formed around Voyager, cutting off pursuit. What he did know was that the Federation Fleet had just made another enemy in the Delta Quadrant.

  When Chakotay finally gave the order to stand down from Red Alert and compile damage reports, the tension of the last few minutes gave way to numbness, followed by almost overwhelming fatigue. They had survived and accomplished their mission. Harry hoped that the forty-seven people who had just transported to Achilles were worth the price.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MIKHAL OUTPOST

  The midday sun rode high over the southern desert as the Doctor and Cambridge materialized in what initially appeared to be the middle of nowhere. The Doctor immediately activated his tricorder and within seconds located Captain Eden. She was no longer descending, but was now moving on a more or less horizontal plane.

  Before them stood a massive cluster of large rocks. Between the nearest two was a low opening, only recently and haphazardly dug out, presumably by Eden. At the base of the entrance, now partially obscured by the unceasing movement of the sands, was another starscape similar to the ones they had previously discovered.

  The Doctor was pointing a medical scanner at Counselor Cambridge. The readings he received produced an audible “Hmmff.”

  Cambridge stopped clearing the sand from the newly discovered artifact and turned to the Doctor.

  “Problem?”

  “These readings suggest that we should begin our descent without further ado.”

  Cambridge’s brow furrowed in confusion, which pleased the Doctor no end because the expression was unusual for Cambridge.

  “As a photonic being, I could easily follow Captain Eden at a brisk run and likely overtake her in the next hour. Were you inclined to take better care of yourself—and maintain a routine of rigorous exercise, like most Starfleet officers—you might be able to keep pace with me. However, I suspect even a light jog would have you panting for mercy in less than four hundred meters.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that we have at least two hours ahead of us with nothing but the pleasure of each other’s company to distract us before we reach the captain?”

  “Depending upon how many rest breaks you require, Counselor.”

  “Amazing,” was Cambridge’s cryptic response.

  Wondering if he was being complimented, the Doctor shrugged and stepped toward the tunnel’s entrance. “To what, exactly, are you referring?” he asked.

  “There are a number of officers aboard Voyager who have spoken to me at some length about the great strides you have made over the years in surpassing your programming. Many of them even find you to be quite a pleasant conversationalist.”

  The Doctor smiled as humbly as possible. “The officers you speak of are some of my closest friends.”

  “That must be it,” Cambridge replied, “because, frankly, I don’t see it.”

  The Doctor’s smile faded. “That’s amusing, because many of the same officers have also had kind things to say about you, but as best I can tell, a more pompous, insubordinate, and generally unpleasant officer has never been admitted to Starfleet’s ranks.”

  “You don’t get around much, do you?”

  “Shall we?” the Doctor asked, gesturing to the entrance.

  “After you,” Cambridge replied with mock civility.

  • • •

  The first five hundred meters of their journey commenced in silence. Cambridge was more than content to leave well enough alone when the Doctor’s wrist beacon suddenly illuminated countless reflective points covering every surface of the tunnel. Clearly the stones were dotted with a luminescent mineral, which made the journey through the darkness quite lovely. But as they continued, Cambridge couldn’t shake the sense that they were walking through space, flecked with stars.

  The counselor suddenly stopped, pulled out his tricorder, and scanned three hundred and sixty degrees around him. After a few minutes, the device emitted a series of beeps, which halted the Doctor in his tracks. How a hologram could elicit such a perfect rendition of a weary sigh was a marvel. For the moment, Cambridge’s hands were shaking as he asked the tricorder to confirm its findings.

  “Do you require rest?” the Doctor asked when he had returned to Cambridge’s location. “I admit you’ve gone longer than I expected without complaint, but . . .”

  “Be quiet,” Cambridge ordered as he moved quickly back up the tunnel a good fifty meters and repeated his scan.

  “That’s the wrong direction, Counselor.”

  “Bloody hell, if all you care about is making haste, then by all means do so,” Cambridge spat back sharply.

  The Doctor seemed to consider the option before slowly retracing his steps and moving to within a few meters of the counselor.

  “I take it you believe you have found something significant?” the Doctor asked more patiently.

  Cambridge lifted his eyes from the tricorder and played his wrist beacon over the walls again.

  “Do the walls and floor of this tunnel remind you of anything, Doctor?” Cambridge asked.

  “Other than the walls and floor of every enclosed tunnel like this I’ve ever traversed?”

  “Look again,” Cambridge instructed, wondering if the Doctor’s programming would include the kind of data his own mind meticulously catalogued. He doubted it.

  The Doctor did so, and finally replied, “Now that you mention it, they do bear a resemblance to the artifacts we discovered yesterday. But the sheer volume of the reflective points suggests they are most likely a natural property of the stone through which the tunnel was carved.”

  “They’re not,” Cambridge replied, stepping several paces back to where the illuminated surfaces began.

  “Would you mind sharing with the rest of the class?” the Doctor asked.

  At this, a light laugh stole from Cambridge’s mouth. The Doctor could try one’s patience, but at least he was able to admit when his knowledge was deficient.

  “This area here,” Cambridge said, indicating the fi
rst illuminated section, “is a precise map of the stars surrounding our current position.”

  “You mean, this planet?” the Doctor asked, now curious.

  Cambridge nodded. Moving farther along the tunnel, he said, “We’re heading toward the boundary of the Milky Way, and by this point, we are reaching the closest formations in the outer Cygnus Arm.”

  The Doctor seemed well and truly flabbergasted. He quickly shone his light down the tunnel and emitted a short gasp. “Counselor, the lights fade here, and there is darkness for several meters.”

  “That’s to be expected, don’t you think?” Cambridge replied, now certain of at least one thing. Whoever had placed those artifacts on the surface did so to point the way toward this tunnel, and whatever lay at its end was most likely the key to their identity. “Care to race me to the Sagittarius Dwarf Galaxy?” he asked.

  The Doctor didn’t bother to reply, but hurried on ahead until once again, the walls and floor glowed with tiny, brilliant lights.

  “This tunnel is a map,” he finally said.

  “Maybe,” Cambridge admitted.

  “What else could it be?” the Doctor demanded.

  “A travelogue,” Cambridge replied.

  “Left by whom?” the Doctor asked.

  Cambridge shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet Afsarah does.”

  • • •

  Eden sat among the ruins, engulfed in desolate numbness. When she had first entered the tunnel, hours earlier, the anxiety she had held at bay for so long almost overwhelmed her. She had forced herself to take slow, regular breaths as she continued forward, and within minutes reached the first starscape map she recognized. She knew this was where a journey had ended. Its beginning waited several kilometers below.

  The names of the constellations she passed embedded themselves in her memory. She was walking into history, written thousands of years ago, literally set in stone. The thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams, and terrors of those who had lived it gathered thick around her like a mist. Beyond the names by which these stars had been called, a reverence for them crept into her consciousness. They had not been merely known by those who had created a permanent record of them here, beneath the desert; they had been loved.