He was interrupted by a spurt of music. Very nice music, it seemed, too, Janeway thought. Flute and harp, was that?
“There they go again! Captain, please, would you get these . . . these musicians out of Sick Bay and on stage where they belong?”
Janeway grinned. “Gladly, Doctor. Gladly.”
Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, stood in her alcove. The vital flows of current restored her body, implants, and nanites, while the hum of the Collective rose about her. In alcoves all around her rested similar drones, while others went about their appointed tasks, guided by the Collective and the song of the Borg Queen.
Resistance was futile. Resistance was superfluous.
That was the way of it. . . .
Or was it?
Loop. Restart.
Seven stood in her alcove in a cargo bay of Voyager. Physically ingested nutrients had restored her body; now, the current restored the eighteen percent of her that remained Borg. She no longer heard the song of the Collective, but the myriad sounds of a starship controlled by individuals as it traveled through deep space.
Her home had always been a ship, a ship populated by drones/a ship guided by a tall man, a laughing woman, with fair hair and blue eyes like her own/a ship commanded by a woman as formidable as the Borg Queen, who spoke to her and held out her hand.
“Seven. Annika. Time to come out.”
Seven of Nine turned obediently, leaving the refuge of her alcove.
The T'kari waif called Lari was watching her. Confused for a moment at what was patent reality yet was at the same time impossible, Seven met the child's unblinking stare in what Ensign Kim called a glare, an expression one used when one wished to be left alone. “Cargo bay is no place for a child.”
The “glare” failed to work.
“You were like me once,” Lari said. “All alone like me.”
“I had the Collective,” Seven retorted. “You are merely alone.” She suppressed the impulse to retreat into her alcove. Irrelevant. Nonfunctional.
“I hear the songs of my clan,” the child countered.
“I will take you back to them. Now.” She had learned that tone of finality from the Captain.
Seven felt the child's warm little hand unexpectedly close about her own, and nearly pulled free in shock. But . . . the child was lost . . . alone. . . . I must return her to her adopted people.
She came back to reality with a shock, wondering why she had not already asked the most important question. “How did you enter the cargo bay? I secured it before I entered my alcove. You would have needed to pass through several other secure areas as well. How?”
“I pushed,” Lari said simply.
“That does not make sense. There is nothing to push.”
“I pushed,” Lari repeated.
The child sounded weary. For a bewildering moment, Seven felt an urge to pick the girl up and carry her— the tall man cried “tired, Annika?” and swung her up, up, up to the sky before carrying her off to her bed with the bird-mobile over it. Ravens, just like their ship. . . .
Ridiculous. She was Seven of Nine. She was Borg. She would return the child to her people, then consult with Captain Janeway.
They left the turbolift on Deck Six, where the T'kari had been lodged. But the turbolift doors had scarcely closed behind them when Seven saw one of the T'kari females—Eloan, the adolescent—hammering frantically on a door. “Inarra? Inarra! She's done it again!”
“Uh oh,” whispered Lari. She tried to back away, but Seven tightened her grip on the girl's hand.
The door slid open, and Inarra's voice said tersely, “She will return soon. She always does. Return to your quarters, Eloan. They must not know.”
What? What must we not know?
“Yes, Elder,” the girl murmured.
The doors slid shut again.
I must contact Captain Janeway.
Turning to Lari, she said, “You will come with me, please.”
The child wriggled her hand free and backed away, wide-eyed, around the bend of the corridor.
“I will not injure you,” Seven said, wondering if the oddness she was feeling could possibly be . . . impatience, “but you must come with me.”
Lari could not get very far. Seven followed the child around the curve of the corridor . . .
. . . and found no one there.
Janeway would be going off duty in . . . precisely seven minutes. Seven touched her combadge. “Captain, this is Seven of Nine.”
“Seven? What's wrong?”
“Captain, I am on Deck Six. While there is no immediate peril, I have discovered . . . a matter here we must discuss. Please.”
She made certain to use the verbal marker “please” so that the Captain would know that she did not attempt to usurp her command. There was a hint of a sigh from Janeway—who, being only human, had most probably been looking forward to going off duty. “Very well, Seven. Meet me in my ready room.”
More racing footsteps—Eloan again, hammering on Inarra's door. “She's back!” Eloan's relief was evident, even to a Borg.
“Good.” Inarra's voice was even more terse than before. “Now go back, quickly, before they find you running about like a summer-crazed likta! Try to sleep.”
As Seven entered the ready room, she found a bemused and wary Janeway waiting.
“What is it, Seven?”
“I found the T'kari child near my alcove, which is a secure area, one for which, of course, she has not been authorized. She did not explain how she came to be there beyond saying that she ‘pushed.’ When I returned her to Deck Six, I overheard the other T'kari discussing her absence—and the need to conceal it from you. Almost immediately after that, the child . . . disappeared. I can only surmise that she ‘pushed’ again.”
Janeway's raised brow meant, Seven knew by now, both annoyance and curiosity. “Thank you, Seven.” Into her combadge she said, “Tuvok, have our T'kari visitors brought to my ready room, if you would.”
“At once, Captain.”
The Captain's smile, Seven thought, was not a friendly thing.
Janeway glanced about the ready room. Seven pairs of bright, alien eyes, as well as Seven's blue gaze, just as bright and almost as alien, stared back.
“People, I know you've been through a good deal of stress lately. And I know we're all weary. But I need some answers, and I need them now.”
Andal glanced at the other T'kari. “Anything, Captain.”
“Seven here says that she found Lari in a secure area. The child could not have gotten in there by any normal means. And before you suggest it,” she added, seeing the glint in Andal's eyes, “none of my crew would have let her in there.”
Janeway caught several quick, startled glances, birdlike little tilts of the head, T'kari to T'kari, but no one spoke. After a carefully timed pause, she continued, “And when Seven tried to return her to you, the child simply disappeared. Does that strike a chord with any of you? Yes? So, apparently, this isn't the first time that she's gone missing like this, either. Is it?”
Silence. Nervous glances.
All right, go for the weakest member of the flock. Janeway turned to the child, who flinched, staring up at her with wide, frightened eyes, “Lari, nobody's going to hurt you,” she said. “But Seven says she saw you outside her alcove. When she asked how you got there, you said that you pushed. What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing. . . .” It was barely audible.
Janeway stifled a sigh. “No one's accusing you of anything bad, Lari. But a starship is no place for a little girl to run about unaccompanied. And if you're sleepwalking, the Doctor needs to know about it.”
Sleepwalking? Janeway's mind echoed wryly. Through solid walls?
Enough.
“Lari, all of you,” Janeway snapped. “You owe me your lives. And I'm calling in the debt right now. If you wish us to take you to Avan-aram, I need a full explanation. Now.”
Sighs. Shrugs. Then Inarra bega
n tentatively, “We mean you and your ship no harm, our honor on it.”
“Go on.”
Inarra glanced at Andal. He continued, “Your crewmember has called us vestigial telepaths. You have seen the truth of that. And you have heard me say that once we were more than we are now.”
He paused, and Inarra took up the story again. “We found Lari alone as we said, and took her in. Among the T'kari, all are family. But we soon realized that she is of an older blood than we. And in her, some of the . . . ancient gift still runs strong.”
“You don't seem precisely thrilled about that,” Janeway said.
The T'kari glanced at each other yet again, more of those quick little birdlike movements. Inarra laughed softly. “It is not a gift without a sharp edge, a . . .” She held up a helpless hand.
“Mixed blessings?” Janeway suggested.
“Yes! Indeed! Most poetic phrasing. A ‘mixed blessing.’ T'kari gifts illumine our lives, but they are, truly, a ‘mixed blessing,’ since they also sometimes cause people to fear us, to turn on us or even seek to enslave us. When the gift is very strong, as Lari's is, it becomes a threat and a lure. My grandchild-of-the-heart does not read hearts and minds, but she has the power to move . . . to move herself.”
“Teleportation?” Janeway exclaimed. “A natural teleporter?”
“Indeed, that. When we first adopted her, the gift was weak, only enough to let her evade us when she did not wish her face washed. Now, though, as she is growing stronger . . .”
Lari had “pushed” from Deck Six to Seven's alcove, Janeway thought. An older Lari, fully grown, fully trained . . .
The lights in the ready room suddenly flashed red/off, red/off, and the warning siren shrilled. Oh, hell, Janeway thought, and hit her combadge. “Chakotay! What's going on?”
“We've been hailed by a ship of a sort I've never seen before. They want to talk with the captain. And they've brought their weapons online.”
“On my way. Janeway out.” She leaped to her feet, a hand stabbing at Andal and Inarra. “You two, come with me. And you, too, Seven. The rest of you, stay here!”
A quick call to Security ensured that they would obey.
As Janeway stepped onto the bridge, she glanced at the viewscreen. Oh, yes, the ship hanging there in space was undeniably built for war. Ugly as the proverbial sin, it bristled with gunports. It had seen hard use, and probably could have taken something as small as the T'kari ship with no trouble at all. But something as large and powerful as Voyager . . . well now, that would be another matter.
Don't underestimate them, Janeway warned herself.
Chakotay rose, relinquishing the command chair.
“As far as I can tell from what little they would admit to someone who wasn't the captain, they call themselves Morak.”
“Species 7611,” Seven cut in coldly. “A warrior race of rigid determination but little imaginative scope. We added their unyielding strength to our diversity.”
“Ah . . . thank you, Seven,” Chakotay said. “Their ship emerged from”—he gestured at the screen—“that asteroid belt, between us and Avan-aram.”
Janeway bit back a sigh. “And let me guess: They're not here to discuss anything as simple as right-of-way.”
Chakotay gave her a wry grin. “I couldn't tell you what they want, since they refuse to talk to—”
“Anyone but the captain. Very well, let's see what they have to say. Open a hailing frequency,” she ordered. As an image formed on the viewscreen, Janeway said, “To the Morak ship: You wished to speak to the captain? Well . . . here I am. I am Kathryn Janeway, captain of U.S.S. Voyager.”
The image resolved into a bridge much smaller and shabbier than Voyager's, and focused on three humanoid figures seated in worn, uncomfortable-looking chairs. They wore dulled metal helmets, bulky sidearms, and uniforms of a drab gray-green that Janeway thought looked as old and uncomfortable as the chairs. The image was sharp enough to let her see where harness and military insignia had been fastened over painstaking repairs.
Not quite as well equipped as we'd like to be, are we? That didn't mean they wouldn't be fierce or possibly even irrational, judging from what Seven had said about “little imaginative scope.”
“Do you fear to show your faces like honorable warriors?” Janeway challenged.
The Morak in the center seat raised pale, seven-fingered hands to remove its—no, his—helmet, revealing an equally pallid face, thin-lipped, with a nose that was little more than a narrow ridge between slit-pupiled indigo eyes.
“Voyager-Captain.” He dipped his head in what Janeway assumed was captain-to-captain courtesy. “What do you in this system?”
“We're on our way home,” Janeway replied. “After dropping off some friends in a safe place.”
“Ahhhh.” It was as much a hiss as a sigh. “You have a fine ship. It would be sinful to destroy it.”
“I am gratified to hear that,” Janeway said dryly. “I assure you, we have no quarrel with the Morak, nor will we be stopping in this system for longer than it takes to drop off our friends. Will you let us pass?”
“Regrettably, Voyager-Captain, I cannot. Your ship carries T'kari. They are a shiftless, impious lot. But . . . we have uses for them.”
“The T'kari are our guests,” Janeway countered.
“Ahhhh, is it so? I will come to an agreement with you, Voyager-Captain. The Morak are not unreasonable. If you have a use for jugglers and petty thieves, very well, keep them. But they have with them a child, an innocent who must not be allowed to be tainted by impiety. Give her to us, and leave in peace. Fail,” he added without the slightest change in tone or expression, “and we will blow you out of space.”
“We will . . . consider it. End transmission.”
As the screen went dark, Janeway turned to glare at Andal and Inarra. “Why are the Morak after you?”
Andal winced. “The Morak have a . . . rigid society. They consider our wanderings from world to world as improper, our songs and stories as sacrilegious. Above all, they distrust our gifts.”
“That little exchange I just had with the Morak was about more than distrust. Am I correct in suspecting they know what Lari can do?”
The T'kari exchanged quick, sharp glances. “Unfortunately, yes,” Andal admitted reluctantly. “A Morak spy saw her once, when she wasn't being careful, and reported to his superiors. All of a sudden, our poor powers became ‘military assets.’ The Morak tried to—to buy Lari from us, and when we refused—”
Inarra laid a calming hand on the man's arm. “Captain, this one Morak vessel has been tracking us from world to world. We fought to escape. We even drove our poor ship to destruction in the effort! We . . . dared think that we finally had escaped. But now . . .” She gave a sad little shrug.
“And this is the whole truth?” Janeway asked, staring into Inarra's eyes. “There aren't going to be any more surprises?”
Inarra met her stare steadily, despair plain on her face. “None. Captain, understand: We feared. We did not know you or your kind. Yes, you rescued us. But we did not know if, once you learned of Lari's gift and the pursuit—we did not know if you would not simply toss us into space.” She sagged wearily. “Do as you must. Only . . . they must not harm Lari.”
I'm willing to bet that this time every word was open truth. And damned if I'm going to surrender a child to anyone who throws words like “impiety” about so casually!
Janeway turned back to the viewscreen. “Open a hailing frequency. To the Morak ship: Hear my decision. The T'kari are under our protection. We will not betray them.”
“Voyager-Captain, I am disappointed at such impiety. One last chance: Hand over that child to us, and we shall not bar your way. Else, we shall regret your deaths.”
“No!” With a rush of displaced air, Lari was there on the bridge, staring at the viewscreen in horror. She darted toward the turbolift, then turned at bay, as if realizing that she could hide nowhere on Voyager without jeopardizing it.
With a new rush of air, Lari disappeared.
Janeway hastily broke off communications with the Morak. “Ensign Kim?”
“I think . . . yes! I've got a fix on Lari's vital signs. Apparently, she pushed onto the moon of the fourth planet out, the big one just beyond the asteroid belt. Lucky for her, it has decent gravity and atmosphere.”
Inarra pressed her palms together. “She has never pushed that far, Captain. Is she well?”
“Life signs are strong,” Kim answered. “But there's a lot of seismic activity on that moon.”
“I must deplore attributing Lari's choice of habitable world to ‘luck,’ Ensign Kim,” Tuvok said. “I would hypothesize that the child's ability to teleport herself must be, of necessity, linked to her instinct for survival. The child ‘sees’ that she will arrive in an environment capable of sustaining life.”
“The Morak ship has begun to move toward the planet's satellite,” Seven's voice cut in.
Damnation. “Tuvok! We'll move to a high orbit around the moon and beam a rescue team down to locate Lari before the Morak can find her. Take—”
“Me!” Andal pleaded, and Janeway nodded. A familiar face would be important for Lari to see.
“Captain,” Seven cut in, “I must be included as well.”
Empathy for a lost little girl? Or merely Borg policy, to leave no drone unrescued as long as rescue was possible?
“Consider yourself volunteered, Seven. Report to the transporter room.”
Unfortunate, Seven thought as the transporter effect dissipated from about the rescue party and they saw their surroundings. This was a world of looming cliffs and narrow canyons striated in black, bronze, and rose and glittering with bits of crystal. The cliff walls were pitted by countless holes suggesting a network of caves and tunnels. The complex geology would make finding the child that much more difficult.
The Amazing Stories Page 12