Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Does this look like an invitation to you, Hugh?” Chakotay asked.

  “That’s one possibility,” Cambridge allowed.

  “There are others?” Kim asked.

  “Assuming this is an answer to the transmission we sent, they know why we came here. Their scan of our vessel must have apprised them of our capabilities, as best they can understand them. They might be saying, ‘Welcome. Keep to the path and proceed.’ But showing us this intensely uninteresting area of their space could also be interpreted as, ‘Nothing to see here . . . move along.’ ”

  “They didn’t have to show us anything,” Chakotay said.

  “I think our first foray into their territory clearly demonstrated that we knew them. They don’t want anyone in there. Otherwise, they wouldn’t go to so much trouble to hide this much space. Most would conclude that what they’ve shown us is not worth investigating further.”

  “Might they be directing us to an area of their space not yet in sensor range?” Kim asked.

  “Perhaps an area with a denser population of sentries capable of destroying our ship,” Seven suggested.

  “An unpleasant, but not improbable, hypothesis,” Cambridge agreed.

  “Bridge to Captain Chakotay,” Commander Paris’s voice called.

  “Go ahead,” Chakotay said.

  “Demeter has arrived.”

  Chakotay appeared dumbstruck. “They were hours away at maximum warp.”

  “They did a quick slipstream jump, sir,” Paris said. “And they have just been scanned by a proctor.”

  “Any damage?” Chakotay asked.

  “None, sir,” Paris reported.

  “Advise Commander O’Donnell to hold position until I contact him personally.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Cambridge chuckled internally. Watching Chakotay work with O’Donnell amused him considerably. Chakotay was determined to demonstrate the fleet’s ability to work cohesively, while following Starfleet guidelines to the letter. Sadly, these priorities had no appeal to O’Donnell.

  His attention was diverted by a shocked intake of breath from Seven. Cambridge turned to her and found her staring openmouthed at the lab’s viewscreen. He followed her gaze.

  “What just happened?” Kim asked.

  “The entire cloaking matrix has just been disabled,” Seven replied, clearly awed by the development.

  “Anything significant?” Chakotay asked.

  “The star system is now visible,” Seven said. “It contains one Class-M planet with billions of life-forms.”

  Chakotay considered this for a few moments, then turned again to Cambridge. “What do you think now, Counselor?”

  “I think they liked something they saw in Demeter more than us, sir,” Cambridge replied. “If they were, in fact, testing us, Voyager passed, but Demeter aced it.”

  A flurry of complicated emotions passed over the captain’s face.

  “Are we going to investigate, Captain?” Kim asked.

  “Yes,” Chakotay replied. “But, we’re going to let Demeter take the lead.”

  Chapter Ten

  GALEN

  The Doctor watched intently as patient C-1’s vital signs crept erratically upward. Several days of study had allowed the Doctor to pinpoint all of the catoms present in his body. There were significant clusters in his neural tissue, surrounding his heart, stomach, and intestines. The Doctor knew from his initial extractions of Seven’s Borg technology when she was severed from the Collective that these areas would have contained various nodes enabling the drone’s link to the Borg Collective and fortifying its vulnerable yet essential internal organs. Many normal bodily processes were circumnavigated by these nodes, allowing a drone to ingest the energy it required to function through regeneration, rather than the messier and more time-consuming processes of eating and eliminating waste.

  The catoms present in these areas were plentiful and most likely all that had allowed the man to survive. However, they were noticeably absent at some of the areas of greatest physical trauma, including his left auditory canal and left arm. Numerous superficial wounds covering his torso and legs complicated matters as they had become infected and were only now responding to antibiotic therapies.

  It seemed clear to the Doctor that patient C-1 had forcibly removed a specialized auditory receptor, or at least the part that had once replaced his left ear, much of the Borg armor that covered his body, and whatever grotesque appendage had been grafted to the remains of his left hand. C-1 still possessed a left thumb, but most of that hand and the other fingers had been severed, presumably at assimilation. While those areas were not critical to his survival, they had also become infected before the introduction of the Caeliar catoms. He could have suffered for weeks, working haphazardly on the extractions, and growing ever weaker before the Caeliar transformation saved his life.

  Superficial damage was now almost fully healed. The catoms the Doctor had initially believed were dormant were also showing increasing signs of activity. Given this, he had decided it was safe to risk reviving the patient. Naturally, the Doctor would not induce consciousness until he was certain C-1’s body was stabilized, but his vitals had begun to fluctuate the moment the trinephedrine had been administered.

  “His pressure is elevated, Doctor,” Commander Glenn noted.

  “As is his heart rate,” the Doctor added. “Injecting twenty milliliters of lectrazine.”

  “It’s still climbing, Doctor,” Glenn advised.

  “Five cc’s quadroline,” the Doctor ordered, and Glenn immediately injected it into the patient’s neck.

  “No change,” Glenn said.

  “Reducing flow of trinephedrine.”

  Glenn looked up. “You’re not going to . . .” she began.

  “I can’t stabilize him like this. We bring him any further out, he’ll go into shock.”

  Glenn nodded as all of the patient’s vitals began to fall, returning to the levels at which they had been sustained for almost a week.

  The Doctor turned away to study the neural monitor. He nodded to himself, satisfied that the attempt had not done any further damage to C-1’s central nervous system.

  Once it was clear that the patient was out of danger, Glenn moved to stand by his side. “What now?” she asked.

  The Doctor shook his head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I’ve seen Seven’s catoms do such miraculous things. I just don’t understand why those present in his body aren’t being more assertive. I know they can repair the rest of the damage and restore him to full health. But they aren’t.”

  “What if he doesn’t want them to?” Glenn asked.

  “Commander?”

  “This man, whoever he was, somehow managed to escape the Collective before the Caeliar transformation. At some point after that escape, he began to forcibly remove all of the Borg technology he could access with his bare hands, and he wasn’t exactly careful about it. He did not join the gestalt, which means the Caeliar must have been honoring a choice they felt him capable of making. But maybe he didn’t want to join them because he didn’t want to live. Powerful as these catoms are, do we know if they have any effect on psychological damage? We may be looking at an intentional suicide.”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t try to save him?” asked Doctor Mai, who had observed the proceedings.

  “I’m saying I don’t know if we can,” Glenn clarified.

  The Doctor moved to the bay’s central data panel and brought up his most recent scan of C-1’s catoms. He was unwilling to display Seven’s catoms beside them but was running his own internal comparative scan when a new piece of data came to his attention. “What is this?” he asked of Glenn.

  The commander moved to his side and replied, “I completed the coding analysis you requested. It took some time as we only have one sample to use for comparison.”

  “Seven’s,” the Doctor said.

  “Yes. According to his catoms, the Borg identified this man as Five of Twelve, Secondary Adj
unct of Trimatrix Nine Four Two.”

  That piece of data was immediately flagged by the Doctor’s long-term memory buffers and routed to his segregated files. When the data match was confirmed, the Doctor walked briskly back to the patient’s side and studied his face.

  “Doctor?” Glenn asked.

  “I . . .” the Doctor hesitated.

  “Doctor?” Mai repeated, clearly hoping to draw him out.

  “I . . . that is to say, Seven knew this man.”

  “Seven of Nine provided you with a comprehensive listing of every drone present in the Collective while she was a part of it?” Mai asked dubiously.

  The Doctor shook his head. He knew his face was registering shock, but the realities and possibilities of this new information were overloading his analytic subroutines.

  “Who is he?” Glenn asked.

  “His name, before he was assimilated, and when Seven knew him in Unimatrix Zero, was Axum,” the Doctor replied.

  “So?” Mai demanded.

  “We’re going to try one more thing,” the Doctor replied.

  STARBASE 185

  Once the Doctor had briefed her on his plan to attempt to fortify “Axum’s” catoms, Doctor Mai excused herself from his sickbay and transported back to her office aboard the starbase.

  She hadn’t had much to report to her superiors in the last few days, but the revelation of the patient’s identity and his connection to Seven of Nine required action on her part; action she could not take while aboard Galen as she could not risk Commander Glenn or her crew discovering it.

  Mai quickly composed a message and encrypted it, forwarding it to Starfleet Medical. From there, she knew it would be routed to the Federation Institute of Health.

  The doctor had no idea what the result of this transmission would be, only that she was under orders to relay any significant developments with patient C-1 immediately.

  She then considered stopping in the mess hall for a quick bite, but troubled by the certainty that the Doctor had been less than forthcoming in his plans for C-1, Mai opted to return to the Galen. Hunger she could manage. Failing to do her duty was out of the question.

  ENTERPRISE

  The first face Admiral Janeway saw when she stepped out of her shuttle onto the deck of the Enterprise was that of its commanding officer, Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He looked weary but well, and his lips formed a mischievous smile as their eyes met.

  “It seems the rumors of your death were premature,” he said warmly as he stepped forward to take her hand.

  Grinning sincerely, she replied, “I’ve heard another rumor, Captain; one I found almost impossible to believe.”

  “What was that, Admiral?”

  “You are a father?” Janeway teased.

  “Guilty as charged.” Picard sighed. “I can produce the evidence, should my assurances fail to convince you.”

  Janeway laughed lightly. “It’s the middle of the night. Let him sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Picard chuckled. “I’ve never in my life wished so dearly to know the identity of the man who coined the phrase ‘sleeping like a baby.’ Either he was badly translated or is long overdue for a flogging.”

  “Congratulations, Jean-Luc,” Janeway replied through her mirth, “to you and Doctor Crusher.”

  “Thank you. I left her pacing our quarters, René in her arms, and I will place no wagers as to who will collapse first.”

  “My money is on René,” Janeway replied.

  “A safe but not certain bet,” Picard assured her.

  By the time they reached the captain’s ready room, Janeway had dissolved more than once into fits of unseemly laughter as he regaled her with the details of the last few weeks of his life since his son’s birth. If fatherhood did nothing else for Picard, it had certainly enhanced his sense of humor.

  “What is his full name?” Janeway asked as she settled herself on the sofa and gratefully accepted black coffee delivered in a lovely porcelain cup.

  Picard smirked as he took a sip of his tea and replied, “It was more challenging than I expected to settle on a name for him.”

  “I was thinking of having a blanket monogrammed,” Janeway encouraged him.

  “Very well,” Picard replied. “He is René Jacques Robert François Picard.”

  Janeway brought a hand to her lips to hold back her amusement. Forcing her face into more serious lines she asked, “Because being the son of the captain of the Federation flagship and the former head of Starfleet Medical wasn’t enough to live up to?”

  Picard dropped his chin, laughter shaking his belly. “I must say, though, he already wears it well, all three-point-six kilograms of him.”

  “I have no doubt,” Janeway said.

  Their eyes met and the levity they had used to dispel the tension between them evaporated.

  “But you didn’t come all this way to tease me mercilessly about my son, did you?”

  “I haven’t laughed this hard, or this much, since I can’t remember when,” Janeway replied seriously. “Already I know the journey was not wasted.”

  “It never is, Admiral,” Picard said.

  Janeway was suddenly taken aback. A most unwelcome wall of rank was rising between them.

  “For now, I would prefer Kathryn, if you don’t object.”

  “How can I help you, Kathryn?” he asked, settling himself beside her.

  Now that the moment had come, she found herself at a loss. They had shared so many common experiences, but they really did not know each other well. Janeway felt that she was trespassing on his kindness. The least she could grant him was the courtesy of not wasting his time.

  “I don’t know how much you know of the circumstances of my reported death and return,” she began.

  “The formal communiqué was less than generous with details,” he said.

  Janeway nodded. “You know I was assimilated by that cube.”

  “I was there,” he noted somberly, “and I do not bear you the slightest ill will or hold you in any way responsible for the actions of the Borg.”

  “Thank you,” she said, wondering how many times he had told himself this before he had been able to accept it.

  “Some part of me remained trapped but present after I was assimilated,” Janeway said, noticing the confusion furrowing his brow as he nodded for her to continue. “It was that part of me that Seven of Nine reached and which enabled her to deliver the virus that destroyed the cube.”

  “The Federation is in her debt and yours.”

  “I don’t care about the credit, Jean Luc.”

  “No,” he agreed, “I don’t imagine you would.”

  “It was that part of me that was taken into the Q Continuum once my body was destroyed.”

  “Q?” Picard asked, clearly taken by surprise.

  “My godson, Q’s son, convinced me that he was confronting a problem he could not solve without me. He taught me how to restore my body so that I could live again.”

  At this, Picard’s eyes widened. “ ‘Of all the wonders that I yet have heard . . .’ ”

  “Indeed.” Janeway smiled faintly. “The problem was the incursion of a continuum into our space/time as powerful as the Q’s but its polar opposite in purpose. It was the Omega Continuum. To seal it once and for all and to end the premature destruction of the entire multiverse required the sacrifice of Q’s son and the Full Circle fleet’s former commanding officer, Captain Afsarah Eden.”

  Picard bowed his head, fully absorbing the enormity of the situation. “There’s always a price, isn’t there?” he asked softly.

  “Q said as much, repeatedly as we were working to solve the problem, and is furious with me now,” Janeway said flatly. “He said I had made an enemy of him.”

  “Why?” Picard asked in utter disbelief.

  Holding up a hand, Janeway continued. “A few years ago, an Admiral Kathryn Janeway, whose life took a very different path from mine, tried to convince me to use a transwarp hub we discovered to bring Voyag
er home. I opted to destroy it, hoping to cripple the Borg. That action made it possible for Voyager to return home sixteen years before it had in her time line. But it also erased an encounter Voyager should have had with Omega that would have made my godson and Captain Eden’s sacrifice unnecessary.”

  “Is there anything else Q deigned to lie at your feet?” Picard asked, now obviously angered. “The Borg Invasion, perhaps?”

  “It’s hard to argue that had I not destroyed that hub . . .” Janeway began.

  “Q!” Picard shouted to the heavens.

  Janeway’s breath caught in her chest as she considered the possibility that Q would answer Picard’s summons. When a full minute had passed in silence, Picard went on, “No, he wouldn’t admit to such frailty, would he?”

  It seemed most unwise to Janeway to tempt fate or Q. But she also found Picard’s anger on her behalf comforting.

  “Frailty?” she finally asked.

  “It’s not his irrational anger that surprises me,” Picard replied. “Indeed, I refuse to imagine how I would feel should anything like that befall my son. But coming from Q? How often has he reminded us how far beyond our comprehension he is? How often has Q justified his arrogance by asserting his omnipotence? Q was better than us. Until now. Brought low by events beyond his control, he lashes out at you. But even a cursory glance at this time line’s history reveals the lie. You faced the Borg many times in the Delta Quadrant, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had you known nothing about them, what do you think would have happened to Voyager the first time you crossed their path?”

  “We would have been destroyed fighting them,” she replied.

  “You would have been assimilated to the last man,” Picard assured her.

  “Probably,” Janeway admitted.

  “You would never have survived to return to the Alpha Quadrant in seven or seventy years, let alone deal with this Omega Continuum.”

  She nodded.

  “But you were prepared to face them because we had already encountered them. And who made that possible?” Picard asked.