Janeway turned and met his eyes. “No.”
Chakotay felt the knots in his stomach loosen ever so slightly. “Okay,” he said.
The last few minutes of their journey back to Voyager were spent in amicable, if heavy, silence.
VESTA
“Anything?” Captain Regina Farkas asked of Ensign Jepel, her operations officer.
“Long-range scans remain inconclusive, Captain,” Jepel replied.
Given the fleet’s history at the Ark Planet and the developments at the Gateway over the past few days, Captain Farkas had opted to survey the system Demeter had returned to from deep within the cloaked parsec of space that was the purview of the ancient protectors. Backtracking along Voyager and Demeter’s previous course exiting the system would have likely put her ship directly in the path of a number of vessels that were now traveling with concerning regularity through the area.
The new ships followed a predictable path, beginning at the termination of a transwarp corridor several million kilometers outside the cloaked area and moving briskly past the Ark Planet’s system. Farkas had no idea where they were going. Should they approach the Gateway they would be destroyed. Once the Confederacy had all but decimated the Kinara it stood to reason that their reinforcements would recon the area. They probably had some new rendezvous point beyond the long-range sensor capabilities of the CIF vessels at the Gateway and were regrouping.
All of the vessels detected thus far were Turei, Vaadwaur, and Devore. Farkas hoped that the Lightcarrier had succeeded in apprising the Skeen, Karlon, Muk, and Emleath of the truth about their allies and that everyone had seen the last of them, at least for a while.
It had taken several extra hours, but Farkas had patiently spent them allowing her ship’s sensors, modified with enhancements installed by Voyager, to render accurate astrometrics readings of the cloaked parsec. The captain ordered the slipstream engine on a course that would bring them within scanning range of the system but beyond the notice of anyone else traveling through the area.
As soon as they had arrived, they were scanned by a local protector. Apparently that scan designated them as friendly, and Vesta had otherwise been left alone as they began their search for Demeter.
“Captain,” Malcolm Roach, Farkas’s first officer began, “I wonder if we are going about this the wrong way.”
“I am, as always, open to suggestions, Commander,” Farkas replied.
“If we assume Demeter arrived safely within the system, the protectors would be aware of it.”
“One would think.”
“Perhaps we should simply ask them for any intelligence they have on Demeter.”
Farkas grinned. “We have all of Lieutenant Kim’s communications protocols loaded. I’m a little wary, however, of the potential response. They might give us a set of coordinates, or they might initiate direct telepathic contact. I’d just as soon avoid the latter. But if we ask, we don’t get to choose how they answer.”
“Too much information could be unpleasant,” Roach agreed. “But given the wave forms’ cloaking capabilities, we might not have another choice. We could be right on top of them as we speak and not know it.”
“If Demeter is out here and they detected us, I imagine they would initiate contact,” Farkas said.
“What if they can’t?” Roach asked. “They could have come under attack and been damaged.”
“And we don’t exactly have the rest of our lives to wait, do we?” Farkas asked rhetorically. After a moment’s consideration she said, “Jepel, let’s summon a local protector and see if they feel like talking.”
“Aye, Captain,” Jepel acknowledged.
A few minutes later, a protector emerged several thousand kilometers from the ship as requested, and Jepel transmitted an image of Demeter to it. The moment the transmission was received, an additional protector emerged, and Farkas’s seat was jolted as it surrounded Vesta.
“What did it say, Jepel?” Farkas demanded.
“Nothing,” the young Bajoran replied.
“Then we’ll just hope for the best,” Farkas said as the ship began to move toward the Ark Planet’s system. They had almost achieved the protector’s equivalent of warp speed when the ship slowed in preparation for moving into orbit around the planet. Seconds later, Farkas watched as Demeter seemed to appear out of nowhere just a few thousand kilometers to port.
“We found her,” Jepel reported.
“Yes, I can see that, Ensign.” Farkas smirked. “Open a channel.”
“Commander O’Donnell is already hailing us,” Jepel replied.
Demeter’s captain appeared no worse for the wear and genuinely happy to see Farkas. “Hello, Vesta,” he greeted Farkas jovially.
While Farkas was relieved, she was also cognizant of the wrench O’Donnell had thrown into the fleet’s works by pulling this little stunt.
“I’m assuming you have a very good reason for being here, rather than back at the First World, where you were expected days ago, Commander,” Farkas said.
“I do,” O’Donnell confirmed. “Do you want to hear it, or should I just begin composing my epitaph?”
“I’m all ears, Captain,” Farkas replied, “but you’ll want to finish that before your next report to Admiral Janeway.”
Over the next few minutes, O’Donnell briefed Farkas on all that had transpired at Femra and Vitrum. Overseer Bralt interrupted on several occasions to express his wonder at the fleet’s work with the Ark Planet and his gratitude to O’Donnell for opening his eyes to many uses he had never suspected possible for the protectors.
Commander Fife then provided Farkas with a complete tactical update of the alien traffic they had detected near the system that delayed their departure.
“So you’ve been sitting here cloaked for the better part of two days looking for a safe window?” Farkas asked.
“Yes,” Fife replied.
“Is there any reason you didn’t ask the protector cloaking you to carry you to a safe departure point before you engaged your slipstream drive and returned to the Confederacy?”
Fife’s eyes were already much too large for the rest of his face. At this, they widened impossibly as the commander turned to O’Donnell, clearly hoping for rescue.
“In the first place, I didn’t know they could do that. More important, we’ve made good use of our time, Captain,” O’Donnell assured her. “Overseer Bralt raised a number of salient questions about our work here and now has all of the data he could possibly require to begin implementing some of our protocols back in the Confederacy.”
“But you are ready to leave now?” Farkas asked.
“Absolutely,” O’Donnell confirmed.
“Good. I’m going to send you a complete report on the rest of the fleet’s actions since we lost contact with you. You’ll need it before you speak with Admiral Janeway.”
“I cannot tell you how I’ve anticipated that moment, longed for it, really,” O’Donnell teased.
Farkas chuckled. O’Donnell could be maddening, but she had grown to appreciate his wit.
“Captain, our sensors have picked up another vessel approaching our position,” Kar reported from tactical. “They exited the transwarp aperture one minute ago and are following their predecessor’s course.”
“We’ll sit tight for a few minutes and then ask our protectors to facilitate our departure,” Farkas ordered.
“Aye, Captain,” Kar replied.
“Commander Fife,” an unfamiliar voice reported from off screen.
“Yes, Lieutenant Url,” Fife replied.
“Our database identifies the incoming vessel as Voth.”
A chill crept up Farkas’s spine. She’d only seen one Voth ship up close and the Scion had made quite the first impression.
“Commander Fife, have any of the previous vessels passing through paused to scan the area?”
“No, Captain. Most of them come under brief attacks from the protectors, counter them, and continue on their way.”
Farkas found her admiration for the wave forms increasing. She knew there was more to them than they’d probably ever have time to learn. Their recent encounters with the new ships now moving regularly through their little corner of the universe might have taught them the futility of such efforts. But apparently undaunted, they continued their quixotic attacks, honoring their original programming despite the probability that their actions would prove useless.
“Let’s hope the Voth do the same,” Farkas noted.
Silence descended upon both ships as the massive Voth vessel approached the system. For a few seconds, it appeared the two Federation ships had dodged the incoming bullet.
As soon as the protectors began their assault, however, the ship slowed. It easily dispersed the attacking wave forms but did not immediately resume its course.
Instead, it slowly turned and began to move directly toward the Ark Planet.
“Damn,” Farkas cursed under her breath.
12
STARFLEET MEDICAL
The Commander did not understand the latest set of data before him.
Modification 247-RF-N651-A was the first he had inserted into Naria’s system that had not been rejected entirely. His initial presumption was that he had finally succeeded in programming the catoms he had injected into his subject to adapt themselves to Naria’s organic systems. All of the readings he had taken immediately following the injection clearly showed the tagged catoms within her system, and all of her vital signs remained normal seventy-two hours later.
But with each hour that passed, the number of catomic molecules present diminished. The few that remained appeared to have altered their configurations significantly, suggesting that they were reverting to the same neutral state they had displayed prior to his modifications.
The Commander could not rule out the possibility that the catoms were behaving this way because of the modifications he had made. Several control tests would have to be administered to confirm or deny this thesis.
He did not, however, believe this to be the case.
Every instinct the Commander possessed advised him that the catoms he had modified had been altered by an external force: Seven of Nine.
How she might be doing this, he could not yet imagine. That she would make the attempt did not surprise him in the least.
The bargain he had made with her had not been explicit on this point, but he could not help but see it as a betrayal.
Seven must be made aware of his displeasure.
Toward that end, the Commander first contacted Lieutenant Slue of the McFarland.
An hour later, after receiving Slue’s report, he contacted Doctor Frist.
COLEMAN
Every muscle in Gres’s body was tense. His chair had been turned to face the rear of the runabout, as had Naomi’s. Both sat silently as officers from the McFarland scanned every millimeter of the runabout with their tricorders. The lieutenant who had hailed the Coleman just outside the Tyree Nebula, a young, fresh-faced Bolian called Slue, observed their work while casting sidelong glances at Gres and Naomi.
Finally, an ensign moved to Slue’s side and offered him his tricorder to substantiate his report. “There are no traces of DNA that do not belong to the pilot or the cadet.”
“How is that possible?” Slue demanded.
“I don’t know, sir,” the ensign replied.
Slue turned a hard face to Gres, who completely understood the lieutenant’s frustration. After Tom, Seven, and the refugees from Arehaz had departed, Gres and Naomi had scrubbed the runabout from stem to stern to remove any evidence of their former passengers’ presence. Neither Tom nor Seven had thought to request this precaution. Naomi had suggested it to Gres during the first few hours of their flight, and he had readily agreed.
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Slue said.
“Gladly,” Gres replied. “Commander Tom Paris, a dear friend of our family, offered me use of this runabout to take my daughter on an extended vacation to Ktaria. She’s never seen my homeworld, and my wife and I decided that was long past due. I would have taken my own ship, but Sam was using it. I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity when Commander Paris presented it to me.”
“Was Mister Paris ever aboard this ship?” Slue demanded.
“Briefly,” Gres acknowledged. “He stopped by to see us off.”
“Was Seven of Nine, also known as Annika Hansen, ever aboard this vessel?”
“She came to say hello to me,” Naomi offered. “I’d been trying to reach her since she returned to Earth several weeks ago. It was the first chance she’d had to make contact. She left with Tom.”
“Neither of them left any genetic residue,” Slue noted.
“They were only here a few minutes. I’m not sure either of them touched anything,” Gres said.
“Your route to Ktaria has been indirect,” Slue noted.
“There’s a lot out here I wanted Naomi to see,” Gres said.
Slue obviously knew he was being lied to. He just couldn’t prove it, nor could he explicitly state his suspicions. If Gres was telling the truth, to ask about the refugees would be to reveal classified information to a civilian and an Academy cadet.
“You will hold position here until I advise you further,” Slue ordered. When he and his team transported back to the McFarland, Gres heaved a pent-up sigh of relief.
Naomi offered him a tight smile in return.
“What do you think they’ll do?” she asked softly.
Gres shrugged, lifting a finger to his lips to caution her.
Half an hour later, Slue advised Gres that he was free to return to his previous course. When the McFarland was no longer visible on the Coleman’s sensors, Gres instigated a sweep of the ship for any device that might have been planted on board by Slue’s crew. Two bugs were detected. Gres left them in place, but made sure Naomi understood that every word they said going forward would be monitored.
Finally, he said, “You know, we have been away quite a while. If you’d rather just go home, I’d understand.”
Naomi shook her head. “I’ve never seen Ktaria. We’re almost there. I think we should stick to the plan.”
“Are you sure?” Gres asked, deeply touched. Both of them knew that at this point Tom and Seven’s ruse was over, at least as far as they were concerned. The safest thing to do now would be to return the ship to Earth and put the whole thing behind them.
“I am,” Naomi said. “I’m really enjoying spending time with you, Dad.”
“Me, too,” Gres said.
STARFLEET MEDICAL
“Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly, Commander Paris,” Doctor Pauline Frist said as soon as he entered her office.
“I’m always happy to do what I can to help Starfleet Medical,” Paris replied cordially.
“I’m afraid I have a rather disturbing report for you,” Frist continued.
Paris nodded, keeping his face neutral. Several possibilities for her urgent request to see him flew through his mind. He had remained in constant contact with the Tamarian Embassy over the past few days, but had not visited since his mother had arrived. His presence there would raise suspicions, though he had no reason to believe that Commander Briggs was aware that Riley’s people were not aboard Gres’s runabout.
Yet.
“My last report to you indicated that Seven remained in stasis in our quarantine facility.”
“Yes, it did,” Paris agreed.
“I have just been advised by the Commander that Seven was removed from stasis and temporarily released from the quarantine area.”
Just been advised? Paris found that hard to believe but decided to play along.
“I see,” he said.
“We have lost contact with her,” Frist continued as her brow furrowed. “She had agreed to depart only briefly, and that request was granted on the understanding that she return within forty-eight hours.”
Not according to Seven, Paris thought. She
was given ten days, not two.
“Although she appeared to be free from contamination when she was revived, the Commander was adamant that she return for additional testing to confirm this.”
That, Paris knew, was a lie.
“Seven agreed to these terms, but is now more than twenty-four hours past due.”
Paris nodded sagely.
“She has left us no choice. The Commander has asked me to issue a public health alert. Starfleet will immediately begin a search for her. The moment she is found, and she will be found,” Frist said with emphasis, “she will be returned to the quarantine facility.”
“That sounds like a reasonable precaution,” Paris offered.
Frist paused, studying him in silence. “I take it she has not contacted you?” she finally asked. “The Commander was under the impression that she might already have done so.”
Confusing as this conversation had become, it had also been quite instructive. Either Doctor Pauline Frist was a world-class liar, or she had no idea what Briggs was really up to. She had not mentioned the refugees or the runabout. Does she even know about them?
“Commander Paris,” Frist demanded, “has Seven contacted you in the last three days?”
“No,” Paris lied. If Frist was toying with him, his goose was already cooked and on the table. But if Briggs had decided to keep her in the dark, Paris dared not risk directing her toward the light switch just yet.
“Should she make contact, you are hereby ordered to advise me immediately. If I learn that you have or obtain knowledge of her whereabouts and do not report them immediately, you will be subject to disciplinary action, including a possible court-martial.”
Finally, Paris understood.
This was not Doctor Frist interrogating him. This was Commander Briggs using Frist to send him a message. He knew about the runabout. He knew he had lost access to both Seven and his catomic goldmine. Seven had frustrated his plans, and he was now altering the terms of their agreement. This wasn’t even a warning shot. Seven had fired the first volley and the Commander was returning it in kind.
Poor Doctor Frist probably had no idea that her job over the past year had really been to act as cover for Briggs. In a way, that was a good thing. Paris sincerely hoped that when the list of names of the officers complicit in Briggs’s transgressions was finalized, it would be short. He was not so fond of Frist that he worried overmuch about her presence on that list. But he continued to hold out hope that the vast majority of those connected with this project were not willingly debasing themselves or their oaths to Starfleet by knowingly assisting Briggs in egregious unethical behavior.
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