“Your people have historically been reluctant to share medical knowledge with their peers in the Federation. It was actually one of the barriers to their initial entry and took a great deal of diplomatic maneuvering to overcome. By categorizing their silence as a ‘culturally specific observance’ certain aspects of your traditions became exceptions to our normal rules and procedures.”
“It’s all because of the metamorphs, right?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I’d be willing to bet that the Kriosian practice of breeding certain individuals to become perfect mates to others, normally for political alliances, was one of the larger stumbling blocks. Many cultures frown upon that kind of genetic manipulation as well as servitude, even when it is culturally acceptable.”
“It’s such a rare thing, Doctor. Most of us have never and will never know an empathic metamorph.”
“I know.”
“And I’m certainly not one.”
“I know that too.”
“So that’s not why you want to use my blood?”
Sal paused again. The potential presence of the metamorphic gene factor was exactly why she wanted to use Gwyn’s blood. Lying straight to the young woman’s face wasn’t an option. But her captain had also ordered her not to share her beliefs about this potential.
“Would it make a difference if I told you that I will not be directly transfusing any of your blood into the patient? My intention is to isolate a particular genetic sequence unique to your blood and transcribe that sequence into a vector that will transmit it into human cells.”
“To what end?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“But it will heal your patient.”
“It very well could.”
Gwyn shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. My mom would hate it. And I’d have to tell her. She’d know even if I tried to hide it. I can’t lie to her. According to Patel, I can’t lie to anyone.”
“I’m not asking you to lie to your mother or anyone else, Ensign. I’m asking you to consider whether or not a cultural taboo placed upon you by previous generations without your consultation or consent is more important than the possibility that you could help me save a life. I’m asking you to think bigger when you consider the question ‘Who is Kriosian?’ Your people have a tradition of considering aliens who marry into your families as full Kriosian. There are no restrictions concerning donating necessary blood or organs to them when they are compatible. I know you haven’t married anyone within this fleet, but when you joined Starfleet, you became part of a larger family. Every individual you serve with could be considered an adopted brother or sister and in that sense, Kriosian.”
Finally, Gwyn looked directly at Sal. “When you put it that way . . .”
Sal didn’t wait for her change her mind. “Your arm, Ensign.”
6
* * *
VOYAGER
Lieutenant Devi Patel had slept incredibly well the previous evening. She was ready. The last time she’d prepped this thoroughly for a mission, she’d been leading her team in their final survival exercises at the Academy. She’d received the highest marks possible for that test and, comparatively speaking, this one should be much easier. She’d arrived early on the bridge to be on hand when word arrived from Lieutenant Kim that his survey teams had all reported in with the same findings: no hostile life-forms were present on the surface. She’d seen the delight on Captain Chakotay’s face as he ordered the first of the away teams to report to the transporter room. She’d stopped by her quarters to pick up her personal supplies and, when she reached the main transporter bay, received confirmation that her cargo crates had already been sent to the surface. Demeter’s transporter room had reported that their operations officer, Ensign Thomas Vincent, had transported down a few minutes earlier. Vesta’s Ensign Jepel Omar had been part of the survey team for their biodome and had remained there to greet the rest of his team when they arrived. He was already busy unloading Patel’s supply crates. Only Lieutenant Lasren had yet to report in.
Patel was just about to call for him over the comm when he hurried into the transporter room.
“Good morning Lieutenant,” he greeted her.
“You’re late, Lasren.”
He handed her a padd. It contained the most detailed scan made to date of their site at the stepwell. Her heart began to race a little in anticipation. Several previously undetected caverns were now visible beneath the water line. She smiled broadly. “How?”
“I stopped by astrometrics a few hours ago and begged Seven for a few minutes on her sensor array,” Lasren replied.
“You’re forgiven,” Patel said as they both stepped up onto the transporter platform.
DK-1116
Ensign Thomas Vincent hadn’t felt dirt between his toes in more than a year. As a child, growing up near the equator in Earth’s western hemisphere, he’d run wild though the reforested jungles near his home and spent long days in the garden with his grandmother learning how to coax life from soil. Back then, the bottoms of his feet had always been filthy. He didn’t realize how much he would miss the simple pleasure, the way it made him feel part of something ancient, until he’d joined Starfleet and traded soft earth for hard deck plating. He’d been tempted more than once to remove his boots and tromp around in the soil of some of Demeter’s larger airponics bins but wasn’t sure they would have supported his weight. Also, Brill would have had his ass. The creamy packed sand-like substance that bordered the stepwell where he would be spending most of his time on the planet looked like heaven. He was tempted to shed his boots on the spot, but didn’t think Patel would approve, and he didn’t want to start this mission on the wrong foot.
He’d received Patel’s briefing packet and been somewhat annoyed with the specificity of their first assignments. He’d hoped for a more collaborative approach when the mission parameters had first been outlined for the crew by Lieutenant Commander Fife.
Still, he was planetside without an EV suit. He knew the warmth touching his face was only so pleasant because the actual radiant energy of the binary stars was heavily filtered by the biodome field. The air had an odd metallic tang to it, but his tricorder assured him of its breathability. The landscape near the well was flat and dotted all over by gray-green bushy plants he bet Commander O’Donnell would be sampling wherever he had been assigned. They were one of the few types of flora that was common to most of the biodomes.
Analysis of any of these curiosities would have to wait until the gear Patel had requisitioned for their group was unpacked and set up, so he joined Ensign Jepel, his operations counterpart from Vesta, with the grunt work while awaiting Patel and Lasren’s arrival.
Vincent knew Jepel’s voice well enough. Given that they were all alpha shift operations officers for their respective ships, they were each other’s first contacts when intership cooperation was required within the fleet. He was actually excited to spend some face time with him.
He couldn’t say the same about Patel. She was the ranking officer and a chief science officer aboard Voyager. She had already decided that the vast deposits of the unusual element that had brought the fleet to this planet were going to be accessible through the cavern system below. Vincent was less certain, but open to the possibility that she was right. His trepidation came from the fact that she hadn’t requested his or anyone else’s input when she had prepared their assignments. She outranked him, but he didn’t actually report to her. He’d gladly follow any officer that earned his respect, but she seemed to be demanding it without having earned it.
But he was also willing to endure a lot in the name of five days on a pristine world. His position usually required his presence on the bridge, so he was well down the list of potential officers considered for away missions. The last one had been fairly hard labor on the surface of an alien world they had christened Persephone. Its atmosphere had been toxic, and the plants created specifically to thrive there for the amusement of the Children of the St
orm had required considerable effort to take root, which had meant long hours sweating inside his EV suit. He intended to enjoy this mission more, assuming Patel left him any time to do so.
“What are these for?” Jepel asked as he opened the second crate with Patel’s name on it.
“You mean you didn’t read and commit to memory every word of the mission briefings Patel has already provided?” Vincent asked. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to be tested on that material when she gets here.”
Jepel shrugged. “Then I’m going to fail. I thought this was supposed to be fun.”
“It might be, in spite of our fearless leader. We’re going to spend a few hours this afternoon exploring the formations under that water,” Vincent replied. “Patel doesn’t pack light, does she?” Vincent added as he started removing diving rigs and rebreathing units and laying them out on the surface of the long table that would occupy their workspace once the associated tent had been set up.
“Are you planning to stay here once night falls or will you be returning to Demeter?” Jepel asked. The young man had clearly coated his face generously with UV protection before transporting down. Some of it remained caked in the ridges above his nose. Vincent also noted that he was wearing a complicated decorative ear piece, despite the fact that most personal accessories were forbidden while in uniform. It must have some special cultural significance to be permitted. Vincent hadn’t met many Bajorans in his few years of service, and none served on Demeter. He figured he’d find time to ask about its significance once they were better acquainted.
“Not a chance,” Vincent replied. “I’m not sure I’ll sleep here, but it sounds like dome 10 will be recreation central for the next two weeks, and I plan to take full advantage of that large lake and beach when we’re not on duty here.”
“I heard Commander Paris was planning to bring down portable replicators to that site,” Jepel said with a wide smile.
“I heard someone named Lieutenant Kar is planning on pulling together a gamma-rotation poker tournament in 10, buy-in is a dozen replicator rations or holodeck hours, depending on your rank,” Vincent said. “You think they’ll let anyone below lieutenant in on that?”
“Kar works security on Vesta, and I bet she’ll let anyone in with time and rations to lose,” Jepel said.
“I think anyone who buys into that game will end up spending the next month alone in their quarters with only water and ration packs for sustenance,” a new voice said behind them. They both turned to see Lieutenant Lasren approaching from the beam-in site. Lieutenant Patel followed a few paces behind.
“You play, Lasren?” Vincent asked.
The young lieutenant shook his head good-naturedly. “Wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
“Oh, right,” Vincent remembered. Lasren was Betazoid and his natural psionic abilities would likely come in very handy when trying to figure out who was bluffing.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Patel greeted them. “Thanks to Lieutenant Lasren, we’ve got new sensor scans to study. How about we do that in the comfort of our portable workstation?” she asked cheerfully, grabbing the silver fabric they’d already unpacked and beginning to lay it out on the ground nearby.
It wasn’t really an order, but it rubbed Vincent wrong anyway. He would gladly assist his team, but he was struck by the fervent desire to do so on his own terms. Before moving to help Patel, Vincent reached down and removed his left boot and sock. As soon as he had placed his naked foot on what promised to be soft white sand, he cried out in pain. He immediately shifted his weight back to his right foot as he raised his left to examine it. He found, to his surprise, countless shards of white turning red with his blood.
“What’s wrong, Vincent?” Jepel asked, hurrying to his side.
Vincent was now hopping on his right foot as the pain of a thousand small cuts began to burn his left.
“The ground,” Vincent replied. “It’s like broken glass.”
Lasren joined Jepel on Vincent’s other side and they carefully guided him closer to the crates, where they helped him sit.
“Where’s the medkit?” Lasren asked.
“I think I’m sitting on it,” Vincent replied. “Just give me a second.” He gingerly tried to brush the white sand from his foot, which turned out to be a terrible idea. Rather than remove it, the motion seemed to embed the sharp particles deeper into his foot.
Patel was suddenly standing over him with a water bag. “Hang in there,” she said as she began to pour the cool, clear liquid over the blood-soaked area.
It hurt for a few seconds, but soon enough provided the first relief he’d felt.
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“You want to head back up to Demeter and let your doctor take a look?” she asked.
Vincent didn’t. “Do our emergency medical supplies include a dermal regenerator?” he asked.
“Do I look like a first-year cadet to you, Ensign?” Patel asked with a trace of a smile. “Of course they do.”
“Give me a few minutes to debride this and restore the skin, and I’ll be good as new,” Vincent assured her.
“Your call.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
By the time Vincent’s foot was repaired and back in his boot, Patel and the others had completed setting up their main tent and donned their diving gear.
“All better?” Patel asked.
“I think so. I’m really sorry, Lieutenant. It never occurred to me that the sand would be a hazard.”
“Then you didn’t notice the mineral analysis I included in your briefing materials?”
“I did, but . . .”
“This area is largely comprised of a mineral similar to crushed kyanite. It tends toward splintery or blade fractures and isn’t compressed enough to show wear around the exposed edges.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I guess I should have paid more attention.”
Patel shrugged. “Too much information can be just as dangerous as too little. I wanted everybody to know ahead of time what we were facing, but details like that probably got buried. Don’t worry. The silica around the lake in Biodome 10 is way softer, more like some of the white beaches you find on Earth. Why don’t you grab some more samples and run them while we make our way down to the water? You’ll be our comm center when we go under. If you lose contact with anyone, alert me at once.”
“Will do,” Vincent said. “One question?”
“Sure.”
“Did all your research suggest anything about the people who created this, or is it simply a natural formation?”
“Best guess: there’s nothing natural about it. And all this suggests so far is that anybody who spent much time here either didn’t touch the ground, or had much tougher skin than we do.”
Vincent nodded. He found himself suddenly grateful that Patel, whatever her other faults, was so ridiculously conscientious. No matter how benign this place looked, like every unknown environment, it could probably kill you fifty different ways. He had forgotten that. She hadn’t. She had come here prepared to keep her team alive, and he could respect that.
• • •
Being Borg had its moments. Ensign Icheb would never have admitted this aloud to anyone, even Seven, although he believed she would have backed him up given appropriate context.
For the few years Icheb had been Borg, life had held no mysteries. It sounded dull. But dull wasn’t automatically a bad thing. Dull freed one from pointless internal unanswerable questions and allowed one to focus their entirety of effort upon whatever task was before them. Never wondering what anyone else around you thought about anything at all had been, in some respects, blissful. Individual Borg did not have thoughts. They had data and directives. There was a constant, low-level hum of information being exchanged unencumbered by emotion. Borg did not feel anything about the work they undertook. They simply performed their duties in calm efficiency until their bodies required regeneration. To regenerate was to cease to exist. Awareness of oneself an
d the Collective vanished as nanoprobes collected and distributed energy throughout a Borg’s organic and technological components. One awakened from this state to absolute harmony of thought and purpose.
Granted, the price of this existence was unacceptably high. To never have the opportunity to think an original thought or to feel anything beyond the Collective’s purpose was the purest form of slavery. And, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the Collective’s purpose had been horrific evil perpetrated upon the unsuspecting or unwilling.
What it had also been, however, was easier.
When Icheb had first found himself disconnected from the hive mind, his collective reduced to a small group of immature drones, he had responded by attempting to re-create the only form of existence he had ever known on a tiny scale. He had succeeded, more or less, until his ship had encountered Voyager. Her crew had led him and the other Borg children out of the darkness of their previous existence into the dawn of individuality.
Seven had been instrumental in his personal transformation and had warned him that one of the most difficult adjustments he would be required to make was to live most of his life in silence. The absence of constant input from others had almost driven her mad, at least at first. Icheb had not found this difficult. In fact, the liberation of his own mind and its incessant quest for understanding and meaning might have drowned out the Collective had the two ever been capable of existing simultaneously.
Few things embodied this dissonance as clearly for Icheb as standing in the presence of Lieutenant Phinnegan Bryce on the surface of DK-1116.
As he and Bryce made their way through a patch of dense overgrowth toward the construct at the heart of Biodome 23, dutifully scanning with their tricorders in search of any sign of the biodome’s field generator, Icheb’s mind was a maelstrom of questions he could not voice. He could not shake the suspicion that his ability to contribute meaningfully to the work at hand was severely diminished by his inability to focus.
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