Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy

by Kirsten Beyer

  Over the next five days, Miral appeared to rally. She remained confined to liquid nutrients. By the end of the sixth day she actually managed to climb out of her crib twice on a young medic’s watch, giving B’Elanna hope that she was on the mend.

  However, the seventh night brought those hopes crashing down. The fever returned and an angry rash appeared on her stomach. Miral cried for ten grueling hours as Hestax was still unwilling to risk anything more than a topical cream until he could analyze a skin culture to determine the nature of this new symptom. At B’Elanna’s insistence, he did review the medical references in her shuttle’s database and finally settled on an antiviral injection he was willing to introduce into Miral’s fragile system.

  Four days later, Miral had fallen into a terrifying stupor. She was languid and unresponsive; all Hestax could confirm was that her immune system was still fighting off the infectious agent, and he still believed the child would conquer it.

  B’Elanna was standing over Miral’s crib, gently caressing her clammy forehead, when Neelix arrived.

  “All the diagnostics are complete and it appears that the Home Free is once again space worthy,” he said as cheerfully as possible.

  “Thank you, Neelix,” B’Elanna murmured.

  “How’s our little warrior?”

  “I’ve never seen her like this,” B’Elanna said softly.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Neelix assured her.

  “You don’t know that,” B’Elanna retorted sharply.

  “Yes, I do,” Neelix insisted.

  B’Elanna tenderly adjusted Miral’s blanket, then pulled Neelix to the far side of the infirmary so as not to disturb her.

  “This isn’t right,” B’Elanna whispered hotly, bathing once again in the familiar waters of righteous indignation that had once been so familiar. “She’s not getting any better, and there’s nothing anybody here can do to help her.”

  “Doctor Hestax is doing the very best he can,” Neelix said without a trace of defensiveness.

  “His best isn’t good enough!” B’Elanna replied. “Your doctors are so far behind Federation medical technology it’s terrifying.”

  This harsh estimation of his people clearly troubled Neelix, but he had the good grace to accept it stoically. He had spoken at great length for days about the wonderful accomplishments of his people as they struggled to survive in one of the harshest environments imaginable. In every respect but this, B’Elanna could agree they were succeeding admirably. Neelix’s obvious chagrin tempered and refocused her rage.

  “I’m not blaming you, Neelix,” she added. “You and your people have been incredibly generous. This is my fault. She’s never suffered from anything more serious than colic or a cold … it just never occurred to me … I should have made damn sure I had an EMH with me.”

  “Voyager will be here in less than two days,” Neelix offered. “You’ll depart first thing in the morning and before you know it, Miral will be in the most capable medical hands possible.”

  “What if they’re delayed?” B’Elanna demanded. “What if my slipstream drive gives out again and I never even make it to the rendezvous coordinates. I don’t know how much time she has left.”

  Neelix pulled her into a firm embrace and whispered softly, “Miral is going to survive this, B’Elanna. You’ll see.”

  Much as she wanted to, B’Elanna no longer believed it to be true.

  Chakotay had never seen anything like the Galen. As a prototype vessel, he wasn’t certain if it had yet been classified, but structurally at least, it appeared to be a cross between a Nova- and Miranda- class science vessel. The main section had six decks. It was constructed in a wide triangular shape and the nacelles were mounted on short pylons extending directly from the drive section.

  Commander Glenn, the vessel’s captain, met Seven and Chakotay in the transporter room. She offered them a brief summary of the ship’s unique characteristics as they made their way to sickbay. Seven already knew a great deal about the Galen and had described it to Chakotay on their journey to rendezvous with the fleet. Still, Chakotay found the proud captain’s guided tour fascinating. It could accommodate a crew of thirty. The emergency wards—which took up the bulk of decks five and six—could easily treat a hundred wounded. More interesting were the holographic systems installed throughout the vessel, including medical, engineering, and security personnel. They were designed to come online only as needed. Since the Doctor had been one of the ship’s designers, Chakotay knew he would be keen to see these holograms used frequently. Chakotay found himself thinking that he might be glimpsing a part of Starfleet’s future.

  Glenn tried to engage Seven in conversation as they walked, but Seven responded with brisk, succinct answers. The commander graciously turned them over to a cheerful, petite young woman with short raven hair whom she introduced as Ensign Meegan McDonnell, one of their medics.

  “How may I assist you?” Meegan asked kindly as she gestured Seven toward a biobed.

  “I wish to see the Doctor,” Seven replied simply.

  “Which doctor?” Meegan inquired.

  “The Doctor,” Seven emphasized.

  “Are you referring to the Chief Medical Officer?” Meegan went on, unperturbed.

  “Yes,” Seven said, her frustration clearly mounting.

  “Please lie down here and I will perform a few basic scans to gather the pertinent baseline information before we trouble him,” Meegan said as she turned to gather her tricorder.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Seven insisted more firmly. “Please advise the Doctor that Seven of Nine wishes to see him.”

  “As I’m sure you can imagine he is terribly busy, and we do not waste his time,” Meegan countered just as sternly.

  Chakotay couldn’t tell if Meegan had been well-trained or well-programmed. In either case she had to be the assistant of the Doctor’s dreams. He was certain the Doctor had never received such deference from his previous assistants, though Kes might have come close. Sensing Seven’s growing unease, Chakotay quickly tapped his combadge, saying, “Chakotay to the Doctor.”

  A familiar and surprised voice replied, “Captain Chakotay? What are you doing aboard the Galen?”

  “I’ll be happy to explain. Could you transfer your program to the main sickbay immediately?” Chakotay replied.

  “Certainly. Is there an emergency?”

  “There’s about to be,” Chakotay said, as he gently put Meegan out of Seven’s reach and quietly thanked her for her efforts.

  Within moments the Doctor materialized with a wide smile and a heavy dose of sarcasm saying, “Please state the nature of the …” Before he had completed what had once been his standard greeting, however, he noted Seven’s presence and, with dozens of questions writ plainly on his brow, moved toward her in concern. At Seven’s request, they adjourned to his private office. Chakotay settled himself on a low stool at a diagnostic station to wait as Meegan did her best to look busy.

  “I hope you understand, it’s nothing personal,” Chakotay offered as Meegan brushed past him with a stock of newly replicated hyposprays.

  “Of course,” Meegan replied, clearly not mollified.

  Well-trained, Chakotay decided. I’m guessing human. He doubted even the Doctor could have programmed an assistant to be so sensitive.

  “Seven and the Doctor have a long history together,” Chakotay offered.

  “I know,” Meegan said a little too testily. “He has spoken of her frequently.”

  And possibly a little jealous, Chakotay realized with an inward smile.

  He knew there had been a time when the Doctor had nursed feelings beyond professional for Seven. They—like Chakotay’s—had long since settled into friendship. It was nice to think the Doctor might have other possibilities on the horizon. Chakotay found himself wondering if the Doctor was even aware of the feelings of his medical assistant.

  It seemed Chakotay had a lot of catching up to do with his old friends.

 
CHAPTER SIX

  Lieutenant Nancy Conlon was almost ready to call this a good day. Five hours earlier, the Voyager fleet had begun a synchronous slipstream flight from just outside the Deneva system to the terminus of the Alpha and Beta quadrants. This was not a test. It was the first sustained flight for the fleet since their launch several weeks earlier.

  And to Conlon’s satisfaction and credit, it had gone off without a hitch. Her team was already celebrating. She couldn’t blame them. Most of them had been pulling twenty-hour days since the first test flight and all that effort had finally paid off.

  Conlon wasn’t ready to join in yet, though. Years spent toiling in the odd confluence of space, technology, and sentient beings kept her enthusiasm on a short leash until the day’s work was complete. The celebration would have to wait until she had completed her post-flight evaluation of every last millimeter of her engines.

  Every diagnostic so far had shown minor expected stresses. As she filed them away, a low growl from her stomach reminded her that she should eat something. She couldn’t honestly remember when she’d last eaten.

  Lunch yesterday, maybe?

  As Conlon started planning the menu for her congratulatory dinner, Lieutenant Neol appeared to burst her rapidly expanding bubble of happiness.

  “You might want to take a look at this, Lieutenant,” the portly Bolian sighed, placing a padd in front of her.

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like whatever this is?”

  “Because you’re not,” Neol deadpanned before returning to his station.

  Conlon took a moment to drop her head and roll it gingerly left and right, eliciting a few loud and satisfying pops before addressing the bad news. After a quick glance she moved briskly from her small private office in engineering’s upper level, a luxury no matter the size, and quickly slid down the utility ladder that led to the heart of her engine room.

  Her new hybrid warp-slipstream core now stood where a standard warp core used to be. The upper portion remained a standard warp drive and was filled with pulsing blue plasma. The base of the core, a clear wide tube that flashed intense amber light and within which rested the benamite crystals powering the slipstream drive, was the cause of concern. Conlon quickly logged into the main control panel and ordered a level two diagnostic of the benamite crystals. The results confirmed her worst fears.

  “Conlon to Captain Eden,” she called, activating her combadge.

  “ Go ahead,” Eden’s warm and rich voice replied.

  “Do you have a minute to report to engineering?”

  “Not really. I’m on my way to the final command crew briefing with Admiral Batiste. Can it wait?”

  Nancy debated for only half a second.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but I’d like you to see this before the fleet separates.”

  “Understood. I’ll be there right away. Eden out.”

  Conlon closed her end of the comm before allowing a sigh of frustration to slip past her lips. This had been a good day. What she had just learned led her to believe that the fleet’s mission might either be much shorter or a whole lot longer than any of them had planned.

  Eden wasn’t comfortable in engineering. As any Academy grad, she had a working knowledge of her ship’s systems, but that knowledge was not deep. Eden liked to think of herself as a big-picture person. She was an avid researcher and analyst, a purposeful leader, an able diplomat, and a steady commanding officer. But whenever conversations turned technical, as they often did in this part of the ship, the captain usually felt like she was reporting for an exam that she had crammed for rather than mastered the subject.

  One of the things Eden liked about her chief engineer was that Nancy never seemed to tire of answering her questions.

  She found Conlon in her office, staring in dismay out the window that separated her private sanctuary from the hustle and bustle going on below.

  “What do you have, Nancy?” she asked, diving in.

  Conlon rose to greet her and got right to the point, handing her a padd to examine.

  “Thirty percent of Voyager’s benamite supply is currently in use. Equivalent percentages are standard throughout the fleet at this time.”

  “And you’re about to tell me why that’s a problem?” Eden asked.

  “Benamite is incredibly rare. I’m actually surprised we managed to find enough to equip the fleet for this mission in the first place. All our tests indicated that the life of an average crystal in use for slipstream propulsion should be a year or more, obviously depending upon a few critical variables, including duration of sustained slipstream flight. We’ve just executed our longest flight to date and though the crystals remained stable, I’m now detecting numerous unanticipated microfractures. At this rate, we will have to replace the existing crystals in forty-five days at the most.”

  Eden did a little math in her head and quickly realized where Conlon was going with this.

  “We’ll exhaust our supplies in three months? We’re supposed to be out here for at least three years,” Eden said.

  “And unless we can find an alternate source of benamite or find a way to extend the life of our current reserves …”

  “Have you double-checked these findings with the other fleet vessels? Is there any chance this is a problem unique to Voyager?”

  “I’m still waiting for confirmation from Demeter, Curie, and Quirinal, but the other vessels are all reporting similar findings. I’m sorry, Captain.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Eden replied, “get busy and find me another solution.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Conlon nodded. “I’ve already assigned a team to go over our last flight and look for any anomalies that might explain the fractures. There’s a slight chance this is a one-time problem, but I doubt it. I’ve also spoken with all of the other fleet chief engineers and we’re set to meet at the end of this shift and compare notes. I know they’re every bit as eager as I am to find a way to fix this.”

  “Captain Farkas is about to take the Quirinal, Planck, and Demeter about forty thousand light-years from our present position, so almost twice the distance we just covered, to follow up on a discovery the Aventine made several months ago. Is that mission going to be delayed by this?” Eden asked.

  “No,” Conlon replied.

  “Voyager, Hawking, and Galen are scheduled to hit the Delta quadrant tomorrow. Any reason to delay that?”

  “We’re not going to be able to fix this overnight,” Conlon replied. “We need to monitor it closely and look for alternatives, bearing in mind that if we can’t resolve it, or if the crystals start showing more serious fractures under stress, we’ll need to consider altering our long-range plans.”

  “Understood. Thanks, Nancy,” Eden said, nodding. “Keep me posted.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Conlon said.

  Eden then hurried to join the meeting of the other fleet captains already in progress in the conference room. She assumed they had also probably just heard this news from their respective chief engineers. She didn’t think any of them would be pleased, least of all Admiral Batiste.

  Lasren said Chakotay wasn’t in uniform. What do you think that means?

  Harry directed the message to Tom’s station below him and waited. A few moments later Tom’s reply appeared.

  I don’t know.

  Harry hurriedly entered: Why are they still on the Galen ? It’s been more than a day since they arrived. Is Seven okay?

  Tom kept neutral and he answered: I don’t know.

  Frustrated, Kim resigned himself to watching the view of the Achilles on the viewscreen as it dropped the first of dozens of subspace relays that would be seeded throughout the area and along the route Voyager would be traveling shortly to ensure that long-range communications with the Alpha quadrant would be maintained while the fleet was in all but the most distant fringes of the Delta quadrant. The Esquiline and Curie would shadow them as they worked and regrouped with the rest of the fleet in three weeks.

&nbs
p; At ops, Lasren provided intermittent confirmations that the relays were functioning properly while Harry ran continuous scans to ensure that the fleet would not be disturbed by any potentially hostile parties. The predictable regular curves he was reading didn’t suggest any danger and for that, Harry was grateful.

  Harry Kim had suffered perhaps more than his fair share of doubts about this mission when he’d first been briefed, but after a few weeks settling in with the old and new faces all around him, he was finally starting to enjoy himself again.

  Tom remained a little distant whether their communications were surreptitiously written or spoken, but that was due primarily to the incredibly heavy workload he carried as Voyager’s first officer. Less than a month ago, Harry had been the one to tell Tom that his wife and daughter had been killed during the Borg Invasion of the Alpha quadrant. Tom and B’Elanna had been formally separated for months, and they hadn’t lived as a family for more than three years. Yet, it amazed Harry that Tom was able to continue to perform his duties while the pain he had to be carrying weighed down on him. The few times Harry had pressed his best friend, Tom had refused to discuss it. Privately, Harry worried that Tom might be mired in the denial stage of the grieving process, but he had no idea how to help him move beyond it.

  With Captain Eden otherwise occupied, Tom sat in the center seat, constantly monitoring ship-wide reports and activities from the data panel embedded in the arm of the chair. Harry had his own work to do at tactical. As security chief, he was responsible for a staff of fifty and had drilled them mercilessly during the test runs. Prior to the unexpected arrival of Chakotay and Seven, Kim had been dying to get a closer look at the Galen. The Doctor’s early reports of the progress of the Emergency Security Holograms created for that vessel had made him wonder if he would be augmenting his staff in a similar manner at some point. His experience with a wide variety of holograms made Harry conscious of the weaknesses that went along with their strengths. He was content that the Galen be the first to thoroughly test these new holograms but he was considering a proposal to crosstrain his staff with Captain Glenn’s at the first opportunity.