“The relays perform regular scans of surrounding space and none of the undamaged relays report the presence of an ion storm. And the damaged relays are concentrated in areas significant to their overall deployment. We could lose twenty along any number of points in the string of relays and not risk our link to the Alpha Quadrant.”
“Whoever did this was assuming we wouldn’t come back to investigate?” Farkas asked.
Bryce nodded. “Or they’re really dumb.” Eliciting an unexpected chuckle from Admiral Janeway, he added, “But I don’t think so. From a distance it would have appeared that a few links in our chain of relays were malfunctioning prior to their complete loss. The damage was done slowly, over several months, to add to this illusion. But the relays targeted were critical.”
Bryce shifted the holographic display to an image of the entire chain of relays stretching from the border of the Alpha Quadrant, where the Vesta was now located, almost twenty thousand light-years into the Delta Quadrant. The damaged relays were indicated by red flashes. The rest glowed a healthy shade of green.
“We haven’t lost that much of our chain. But given the position of the damaged relays, we’re a few weeks away from losing the entire system,” Bryce concluded.
“Someone is trying to trap us out here without the ability to contact Starfleet Command,” Janeway said.
“If we weren’t here now, we’d be assuming we had months before risking losing the system, given how few were targeted,” Bryce added.
“Do we have any idea who did this?” Janeway asked.
“No,” Bryce said. “Deep space sensor reports show nothing; no ships, no natural phenomena, nada.”
“I’m going to dispatch a few shuttles to recon the area,” Farkas said. “Whoever did this might be watching to see the results of their handiwork.”
“Agreed,” Janeway said.
“Can we repair the damaged relays, or do they have to be replaced?” Janeway asked.
“Replaced,” Bryce said.
“And upgraded,” Lieutenant Barclay added.
Turning to address the officer who had spearheaded Project Pathfinder, establishing communications between Voyager and Command, Janeway asked, “How?”
“The shielding system of all of the relays needs to be enhanced,” Barclay said. “And while we’re at it, I think we would do well to hedge our bets.”
The display shifted again, now showing the innards of a single relay. Janeway immediately recognized the technology.
“Regenerative circuits?” she guessed.
“Yes, Admiral,” Barclay said.
“How long will these modifications take?” she asked.
“We can have the damaged relays replaced within five days,” Bryce said. “The upgrade will take at least two weeks. And that won’t include all of the relays but enough to limit anyone’s ability to take out the entire system in a similar fashion.”
Janeway inhaled sharply. This was not what she wanted to hear.
“Admiral?” Farkas asked.
“Do we have any idea where Voyager and Demeter are?” Janeway asked.
“Their last transmission was sent from New Talax,” Bryce said. “Eight weeks ago they departed for coordinates approximately forty thousand light-years from that location, and they have not transmitted any reports since then.”
“Eight weeks without reporting in?” Janeway confirmed. Forcing her concern for half of her fleet down, the admiral reminded herself that she trusted Chakotay implicitly.
“Captain Farkas, Commander Glenn,” Janeway ordered, “allocate all necessary personnel to repairing the relays. Utilize every resource at our disposal to speed the work. Keep a regular rotation of shuttles out there searching for evidence of whoever did this.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Farkas said.
“Yes, Admiral,” Glenn said.
“If I may?” Lieutenant Barclay piped up.
“What is it, Reg?” Janeway asked.
“The shuttle operators should look for evidence of gravimetric displacement, excess tetryons . . .” he began.
“Or anything else that might indicate cloaked vessels,” Janeway said and nodded. “See to it,” she added to Farkas. “Dismissed.”
Janeway waited until the room had cleared to allow her shoulders to slump and to indulge in a few minutes of worry about Voyager and Demeter. Eight weeks was a long time to go without reporting in. But not unheard of.
It didn’t matter. Unless the relays were repaired and upgraded, the Full Circle fleet would lose contact with Starfleet Command at the hands of an unknown enemy. And that was entirely out of the question.
“They’re fine,” she said aloud to the empty briefing room.
Chapter Twenty-five
VOYAGER
For quite some time, it looked as if the proctors had matters well in hand. They easily absorbed the first volley of fire from the alien vessel and moved decisively to evade another direct hit. Once clear, they glided gracefully through the darkness, carrying Voyager and Demeter with them. Chakotay could not calculate their speed, but the feel of his ship beneath him put their velocity near maximum warp.
Their pursuers followed with difficulty. The sentries continued their attacks, unconcerned or unaware of their futility. The proctors had opened a wide lead on the alien vessels by the time faint pinpoints of light began to dot the main viewscreen.
“We’re nearing the far edge of the cloaking field,” Gwyn reported.
“If the proctors would release us, we could calculate a slipstream jump and execute it as soon as we’re clear of the cloak,” Paris said.
“We’d need a few minutes for our long-range sensors to sweep the area and plot our course,” Chakotay said. “And we can’t tell Demeter what we’re planning. I won’t risk leaving them out here on their own.”
“We don’t want the proctors to release us just yet,” Kim said from tactical.
“Why?” Paris asked.
“There are fourteen additional ships, holding position, three hundred million kilometers to port,” Kim said.
As Chakotay absorbed this development in silence, Paris said, “We’re headed right for them, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Kim replied.
“Can you identify them?” Chakotay asked.
“Two Turei vessels. One Devore attack cruiser,” Kim said.
“The Devore?” Paris asked, incredulous.
“Who are the Devore?” Cambridge asked.
“Long story,” Chakotay said.
“Will they be happy to see us?” Cambridge asked.
“No,” the captain and first officer replied in unison.
“This makes no sense,” Paris said. “Even if the Turei and Vaadwaur found a way to bury the hatchet, Devore space is thousands of light-years from theirs. Who invited them to this party?”
“Agreed, any alliance between these races is extremely unlikely, but we’ll worry about that later,” Chakotay said tensely. The armada now arrayed against his ships came into view on the main screen. Three were large, well-armed battle cruisers. The rest were smaller, but also armed to the teeth.
“Our pursuers have cleared the cloaking field,” Kim advised from tactical. “They are moving to join the others. All ships have raised shields and armed weapons.”
A loud burst of static spiked over the comm system followed by a harsh male voice punching through the interference.
“Federation vessel, you will not be permitted to approach the gateway to the Worlds of the First Quadrant. Any attempt to do so will result in your immediate destruction.”
“What gateway?” Kim asked softly.
“This is Captain Chakotay of the Federation Starship Voyager,” Chakotay began.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lasren interrupted him. “They closed the channel immediately.”
“They just wanted us to know why they were about to open fire,” Paris observed.
“They know us,” Chakotay mused. “They addressed us as Federation vessel.” That was
disconcerting. “And they think we’re trying to reach the Worlds of the First Quadrant.”
“The hail came from the largest unidentified vessel,” Lasren reported. “Life-form readings on that ship are sketchy but do not match Turei, Vaadwaur, or Devore.”
“Why are their comm systems working when ours aren’t?” Cambridge interjected.
“These ships obviously know more about this area of space and the Worlds of the First Quadrant than we do,” Chakotay said, thinking out loud. “They didn’t hesitate to enter the cloaked area, they had countermeasures prepared for the sentries, and they have devised a means to cut through the interference generated by the proctors. They have us at a number of disadvantages right now.”
“If we could tell them we have no interest in this gateway, maybe they’d . . .” Paris began.
“The Turei, the Vaadwaur, and the Devore?” Chakotay cut him off. “They’re not just going to let us go.”
“If the proctors can get us clear, they might lose interest,” Paris argued.
“They won’t.” Chakotay studyed the evolving deployment of the alien armada. Thirteen of the ships were approaching Voyager and Demeter. Six held position several thousand kilometers to port. As the net drawing close around Voyager began to tighten, Chakotay realized that there was only one path that might lead to temporary safety.
“Five ships arrived at the far side of the cloaking field via a subspace tunnel,” Chakotay said. “We know the home of the Worlds of the First Quadrant is thousands of light-years away. Somewhere out there, I’m betting close to the position of those six ships, is the entrance to another subspace tunnel.”
“The gateway they don’t want us to enter?” Paris asked. “Sir, you’re not suggesting . . .”
“The proctors will never take us to the Worlds of the First Quadrant,” Kim added.
“The proctors must know how to access it,” Chakotay continued. “It’s our only chance. Lasren, transmit a message to the proctors. Tell them we must enter that gateway.”
A brief silence ensued before Sharak said, “They will not comply.”
“Kenth, remind them what Omega did to our fleet,” Chakotay ordered.
Another long moment passed before a single image appeared on Sharak’s screen: a ring of fire.
“We’re altering course,” Gwyn reported from the helm.
“That’s better,” Chakotay said. “Demeter?”
“Matching our new course and speed,” Lasren said.
“Captain, are you sure?” Paris asked.
With a grim smile, Chakotay said, “Not really.”
The relatively smooth ride Voyager had enjoyed ended abruptly as four of the alien vessels broke formation and moved to intercept the Federation ships. Again, the enemy fire was absorbed by the proctors. Their weapons blazed in shades the computer interpreted as reds, blues, and greens. The firing forced a course change as the proctors tried to avoid impact. Although the proctors cut it closer than Chakotay would have wished, they quickly found a new path through the evolving chaos and continued to carry both Voyager and Demeter on separate courses toward their goal.
“We might just . . .” Paris began but was cut short by a sonorous boom rattling the entire ship.
The captain sensed a variation in the hum emanating from the proctor currently protecting Voyager. “Harry, report!”
“That was a torpedo, sir,” Kim replied. “High yield. Without the proctor, our shields would have taken heavy damage.”
“Was the proctor affected?” Chakotay asked.
“I’m reading intermittent fluctuations in its EM field,” Kim said.
Chakotay looked back to the main viewscreen. The “gateway” might be closer than ever, but all nineteen ships were coordinating their movements, offering Voyager no direct route to its entrance.
“What’s Demeter’s status?” Chakotay asked.
“Their proctor is keeping them clear of Voyager. Both proctors seem to be trying to divide the attention of our attackers. But Demeter has taken four direct hits,” Kim said. “Their proctor is worse off than ours.”
“Captain, this isn’t going to work. We need to regain helm control and get out of here,” Paris said for Chakotay’s ears only.
“The proctors wouldn’t have agreed if they didn’t think they could get us through this,” Chakotay said.
“That’s a lot to take on faith,” Paris said.
Another series of jolting shocks pummeled the ship. Chakotay estimated at least five direct hits on Voyager that time. The proctor’s hum had become a high-pitched whine.
“Lasren,” Chakotay said, “I want you to send another message to the proctor surrounding our ship.”
“What’s the message, sir?” Lasren asked.
Once Chakotay outlined his request, it took the ops officer a minute to compose the transmission, during which Voyager was tossed mercilessly about. This time, the proctor sent an immediate response. Chakotay turned to Sharak, who translated it with a grim nod.
“Helm, prepare to engage at full impulse. Set course away from the gateway, and let’s hope most of our new friends decide to follow. Shields to maximum. Ready all weapons,” Chakotay ordered, then added, “And ready the slipstream.”
Five seconds later the whine disappeared completely and Gwyn said, “Helm is responding, sir.”
Okay, Fife, Chakotay thought. This is your chance. Take it.
DEMETER
The moment Commander O’Donnell handed over Demeter’s command, Fife wondered if O’Donnell would leave the bridge. He was pleased when the commander didn’t. Instead, O’Donnell stood behind his chair, clutching its back to avoid being tossed onto the deck as Demeter began to draw its share of enemy fire.
It was a maddening experience for the young lieutenant commander. Four months earlier during the first combat Fife had seen in the Delta Quadrant, Demeter had been captured by the enemy and moved into their space. Fife had been consumed by his desire to free Demeter from the control of the Children of the Storm. That desire had blinded him to his duty to O’Donnell and Demeter. He was determined not to repeat his mistakes but was also absolutely unable to countenance this loss of control. It didn’t frighten him, it enraged him. But Fife also knew that the proctor now surrounding his ship was its best defense against the attacking vessels.
“Lieutenant Url,” Fife called to his tactical officer, “prepare to vent tetryon plasma on my order.” He had ordered this countermeasure prepared weeks ago, to disperse the wave forms in the event of an attack.
“Sir, right now the proctor is the only thing that can protect us from those ships.”
“Mister Fife knows that,” O’Donnell cut Url off briskly. “Follow your orders, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir,” Url replied.
“Ensign Vincent, I want the comm restored. I need to be able to speak to Captain Chakotay,” Fife said.
“Aye, sir,” Vincent replied from ops, though both knew this was probably a futile effort.
“Ensign Falto,” Fife called to the helm, “prepare to resume control of the helm as soon as the tetryon plasma is released. Make sure the slipstream drive is online and our rendezvous coordinates entered.”
The next few minutes were a test of Fife’s patience. The small ship shuddered and rocked as the proctor guided it through the hostilities. He wanted to give it the full benefit of the doubt. But he also wasn’t going to allow it to lead Demeter to its destruction. Should it fail at an inopportune moment, Demeter would be sitting in the crossfire of several alien ships. They couldn’t absorb the damage Voyager could. The weapons now pummelling his ship could likely destroy it with a few direct hits.
“Commander Fife,” Url reported, “our proctor seems to be altering its strategy.”
“How?” Fife asked, wondering if the high-pitched whine that now grated more annoyingly than the constant pounding of alien weapons might indicate that the proctor had sustained critical damage.
“I believe our proctor is coordinati
ng its efforts with Voyager’s, and they are working to divide the attention of our attackers,” Url said.
“Your point?” Fife demanded.
“We’ve altered course, sir, and are approaching Voyager,” Url said.
“Why?” Fife asked, more of himself than his crew.
“Don’t do anything until you know for sure,” O’Donnell suggested.
Fife didn’t want to trust O’Donnell’s instincts, but they were usually correct. He held his peace, knowing that within moments he’d have an answer.
“Mister Fife, the proctor surrounding Voyager has released it,” Url reported.
Good, Fife thought. “As soon as ours does the same, prepare to return fire and engage the slipstream drive,” Fife said aloud.
Fife watched intently as the vibrant greenish haze that had surrounded Voyager was sloughed completely off but was immediately taken aback when it moved directly toward his ship.
“Url,” Fife began but was paused by the firm hand of Commander O’Donnell pressing on his shoulder.
The second wave form surrounded Demeter, reinforcing the proctor already present, and the whine of its straining efforts diminished to a low, resonant hum. Fife’s heart sank.
“Vincent, can we contact Voyager?” Fife demanded.
“No, sir,” Vincent said.
As if rejuvenated, the proctors now encircling Demeter dodged and weaved gracefully through the oncoming attacks, increasing their speed.
Fife wanted to return fire before making a brisk escape via their slipstream drive, but it seemed that was not Captain Chakotay’s plan. Voyager had just purchased Demeter’s survival, likely at the cost of their own destruction.
An orange ring of fire blossomed into existence in the center of the main viewscreen.
“Hello,” O’Donnell said behind him.
“Report!” Fife shouted.
“It’s a subspace distortion,” Url said.
“Specify!” Fife demanded.
“It’s an aperture, sir, leading to a subspace tunnel,” Url clarified.
Star Trek: Voyager - 042 - Protectors Page 33