Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

by Kirsten Beyer

  Bless her heart, Sal thought sincerely. And if there’s anyone out there listening, hear this: That young woman deserves to live a long and happy life. She’s facing this with the temerity of one of my Viking ancestors. Don’t let any harm come to her just because the Federation doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.

  Shaking her head at one of the hundred misgivings she felt about this mission, Sal returned to the main medical bay and opened Ti’Ana’s file to enter a preliminary commendation. It wasn’t customary for a doctor to do so, but Sal saw Ti’Ana’s choice as one above and beyond the call.

  A low hum of activity on the bridge thrummed all around Farkas. She could taste the pleasant tension in the air. It was go time.

  For weeks her crew had followed Voyager’s lead through the Alpha Quadrant, testing their slipstream engines and streamlining the procedures used during synchronous flight. It was a concentrated shakedown: everyone getting used to a new ship, new crewmates, new commanders, and working the expected and unexpected kinks out of their respective systems. Things hadn’t really started to gel, however, until Quirinal had made the leap with the rest of the fleet to the terminus of the Beta and Delta Quadrants. This was the farthest she and every member of her crew had journeyed from Federation space, and it was exhilarating.

  All of them had seen too much battle in recent years. For her part, Farkas had hoped that the conflict with the Dominion would be the worst she would ever endure. What the Borg had done a few months earlier had made the years of conflict with the changelings seem like a minor inconvenience.

  But finally, she and her crew were once again setting out to do what Starfleet did best: explore the unknown. Though the captain had no doubt there were dangers to be faced in the Delta Quadrant—a cursory review of Voyager’s logs had made that quite clear—she refused to rein in the sense of possibility that this mission engendered in her.

  In some ways it was a shame that her crew—along with T’Mar’s and O’Donnell’s—had drawn this particular straw for their maiden mission with the fleet. Farkas was never one to run from challenges; indeed, she thrived on them. But she wasn’t sure that Sal didn’t have a point about this particular mission, a point she’d made repeatedly since their first briefing with Admiral Batiste.

  “So these ‘Children of the Winds’—”

  “The Storm” Farkas had corrected her.

  “Potato, potahto. They actually told the Aventine never to return to their space, and that’s where we’re going?”

  “We’re talking about one of the most unusual and potentially dangerous species the Federation has ever encountered, El’nor.”

  Eying her warily, Sal had continued, “Why can’t we just leave well enough alone, Regina? Did I miss a meeting? When an alien species makes contact and then asks you relatively politely to leave … you leave. It’s been a while since I cracked any of our rule books, but I’m almost certain I read that somewhere once.”

  Farkas didn’t doubt that when the Federation had been formed, it was a good rule, and the vast majority of the time, it remained a good rule. But the warrior in Farkas knew that once in a while, every rule needed a little massaging. Starfleet, with its most advanced technological toys, had barely survived its last encounter with the Borg. Based on Farkas’s reading of the classified materials surrounding the final confrontation, without the interference of the Caeliar, Starfleet wouldn’t have survived. But somehow the Children of the Storm had managed to clear their system of the Borg forever, leaving a debris ring a light-year wide of Borg pieces. While Farkas didn’t really kid herself that her crew was going to discover the means by which the Children of the Storm had accomplished this minor miracle from the distance they intended to keep, anything they could learn would be incredibly useful.

  The official word was that the Borg were gone. Farkas hoped with every fiber of her being that this was true. But even if they were, that didn’t mean that somewhere out there, another lunatic race bent on galactic domination wasn’t waiting to take their shot. For all any of them knew, the Children of the Storm might one day decide to annex a little new real estate. At the end of the day, the Federation could no longer live under the happy illusion that if they left well enough alone, others could be counted on to do the same. They had a responsibility to their citizens to seek out and understand any and all potential threats.

  Or so she’d tried to convince Sal. Tried and, as best she could tell, failed.

  Daunting as the mission was, however, it was theirs. Farkas and her crew were finally out here, far from the watchful gaze of Admiral Batiste, ready to do the Federation proud. It was long past time for someone other than Voyager’s crew to make a name for themselves in this part of space.

  Lieutenant Commander Atlee Fife’s voice rang clearly through the comm. “Demeter confirms transfer of all personnel complete. We will remain in position until further instructed. Safe travels, Quirinal.”

  “We’ll see you in fourteen days, Commander,” Farkas jumped in before Roach had a chance to close the comm. “Try and stay out of trouble until we get back.”

  “Acknowledged,” Fife replied, signing off.

  From the sound of it, Fife and Roach needed to loosen up a little before they strained something.

  Time will do the trick, Farkas assured herself.

  “Farkas to Captain T’Mar.”

  “Morning, Captain,” his cheery voice replied.

  “We’re ready to get under way.”

  “As are we.”

  “Then let’s do this.”

  “Indeed,” T’Mar agreed, sounding every bit as enthused as Farkas felt. “Planck out.”

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Farkas said, addressing her bridge crew. “I know we’ve all been through the simulations, but we’re going to go through this one more time for safety’s sake. On my command, Ensign Hoch will set course and engage impulse engines. Our destination is a position two light-years from the system known to be inhabited by the Children of the Storm. Once we’ve arrived, Ensign Jepel will give our handy dandy new long-range sensor grid its first real test. We’re going to gather as much relevant data as we can about the surrounding systems and the debris field without bothering the natives. We’re not here to make contact, and we’re certainly not here to start trouble. A nice, long look is all we’ll be taking. Lieutenant Sienna, I expect regular tactical updates, and at the first sign of trouble we need to be prepared to make tracks. Any questions?”

  As expected, there were none.

  “All right. This isn’t a drill. Ensign Hoch?”

  “Setting course one four seven mark three two,” Hoch advised.

  Farkas took a deep breath, anxious to see what the next few days had in store for all of them.

  “Engage.”

  Chapter Three

  STARDATE 58450.8

  U.S.S VOYAGER

  Captain Parimon Dasht was speechless.

  Eden had wondered how he would take the revelation about Admiral Batiste’s true nature and agenda. She had already privately briefed Captain Chan and Commander Drafar, and their initial responses had been similar to Parimon’s, but neither had taken quite so long to say something … anything to make the moment less humiliating. Of course, Parimon had known both Willem and Eden casually prior to this mission. If memory served, he’d actually attended a conference or two with Willem.

  “That’s just … not possible,” he finally stammered, his normally pale cheeks taking on a ruddy glow.

  Eden truly sympathized.

  “I know,” she offered.

  Dasht rose from his seat at the conference table situated in what Eden had taken to calling the “east wing” of her suite and began to pace.

  Willem had always seemed to enjoy Parimon’s company. A decade younger than either of them—or at least me, Eden mentally corrected herself—Parimon Dasht was bright and energetic, with jet-black hair set above vivid green eyes and finely chiseled features. His looks had probably done more tha
n his actual recreational activities to earn him a reputation for cavalier relationships. He was a third-generation Starfleet officer, a passionate defender of Federation ideals, and, Eden suddenly realized, personally offended by what she had just told him.

  He might feel worse about this than I do.

  Of course, she’d had a few days to let the reality sink in, and he’d had seconds.

  “I’ve known the admiral for years,” Dasht finally said, turning his disbelieving face toward hers.

  Eden cleared her throat before replying, “As have I, Parimon.”

  “Of course.” He shook his head. “But I mean, I had to have known him before …” His voice trailed off.

  Eden finally understood.

  “Before he was replaced?”

  “I was still a lieutenant. I attended a lecture he gave at the Academy, something about first-contact protocols. He was … he …”

  “I’m so sorry, Parimon. I know this is difficult.”

  Rather than dissipating the tension, Dasht’s steps grew more energetic.

  “I just don’t see how this could happen!” he finally said, raising his voice accusingly.

  Taken aback, Eden stiffened in her chair.

  “I mean, what are they doing at Command? How exactly does a member of Species 8472 impersonate an admiral for years and nobody has a clue?”

  “It’s hardly unprecedented,” Eden suggested. In truth, the number of aliens who had successfully compromised sensitive command positions over the years was alarming. And that was only considering the ones Eden knew about. Heaven knew there were probably more buried in Starfleet Intelligence’s classified files.

  Dasht finally deflated a little. After a moment spent collecting himself he asked softly, “Has anyone informed his family?”

  At least Eden could offer him this comfort. “Willem was an only child, and his parents passed years before we met. By the time he was compromised, there wouldn’t have been a close family member to raise any red flags. And I’m sure Admiral Montgomery will initiate a full investigation. We were advised by Species 8472 when we made contact that the other agents they had planted were now deceased.”

  “As best we know,” Dasht corrected her.

  “True, but at least now the threat has been uncovered, and for the present moment, there’s nothing more either of us can do about it. I suggest we focus, instead, on the work that is before us.”

  Dasht stiffened. “Of course, Captain,” he acquiesced, resuming his place seated across from her.

  “I assume our communications relays are in place and fully functional?”

  “Yes, Captain.” Dasht nodded. “We’ve established a time-delay interface with Starfleet Command that should extend almost forty thousand light-years into the Delta Quadrant.

  “Excellent job,” Eden complimented him. “Anything to report?”

  “Our long-range sensors picked up a few inhabited star systems along the way, but we did not deviate from our course to investigate. We did encounter one friendly species, the Urnatal. Nice people. My senior staff held a dinner in honor of their First Minister. He took a liking to the spiced ale,” Dasht added, finally smiling faintly in remembrance.

  “So we’ve already made a friend in the Delta Quadrant? That’s impressive, Captain.”

  “It was an easy first contact,” Dasht admitted. “They’re travelers, a long way from home. I got the sense they’d enjoy any excuse for a party. Their homeworld was a hundred light-years from the position where we encountered them, but they invited us to visit whenever we like and assured me that formal statements of welcome would be forwarded at some point. Oh, and they presented me with a gift, which is rightfully yours now, as our fleet commander.”

  Eden balked instinctively.

  “It was your accomplishment,” she began her refusal.

  “No, no,” Dasht said, shaking his head and hurrying to retrieve a long obsidian staff he’d placed against the wall near the door to her cabin when he’d first entered.

  Presenting it formally, he said, “With the compliments of First Minister Scrall, it is my honor to present you with the Staff of Ren.”

  Eden rose to accept the offering.

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said, taking it graciously and examining it briefly. “It’s lovely,” she finally murmured. “Do they manufacture these on the Urnatal homeworld?”

  “No.” Dasht shook his head. “It was part of the minister’s private collection, something he had picked up in his travels. He seemed to set great store by it.”

  Running her hand along it gently, Eden felt a series of raised ridges and curves. Peering at them more closely, she felt a shock like ice water coursing through her veins.

  Noting her reaction, Dasht added, “Scrall said the indentations were believed to be decorative.”

  Beware those who trespass upon the ground of our ancestors.

  Eden didn’t know how or why the words entered her mind as clearly as if she’d been reading Federation Standard.

  “They never bothered to translate them?” she asked a little defensively.

  “They couldn’t,” Dasht corrected her. “Is something wrong, Captain?”

  Sensing danger, Eden steadied herself. She set the staff on the table and, composing her face, replied, “Of course not. It’s beautiful, and I’m most grateful to the minister, and to you. I’ll have your new orders ready by tomorrow. We’re waiting to regroup with the rest of the fleet before moving on.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Clearly sensing dismissal, Dasht rose and moved hesitantly toward the door. When Eden remained rooted to the floor, he turned to add softly, “And may I say, Captain, that I’m sorry for your personal loss. My reaction was unprofessional, but it was also insensitive. Whatever loss I may feel in Admiral Batiste’s betrayal certainly cannot compare with yours.”

  Eden appreciated the sentiment, though at the moment, Willem’s many transgressions were the least of her worries.

  “Thank you, Parimon,” she replied.

  “If you ever want to talk, Afsarah,” he offered.

  “I know where to find you,” she assured him.

  With a faint nod of acceptance, he left her standing before the table. She waited until she was alone to begin shaking with violent and overwhelming emotion that had nothing at all to do with her ex-husband.

  “I’m telling you, Harry, it doesn’t get better than this.”

  “It doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

  Where the desert heat of Chaotica’s realm had been stifling, the gentle warmth of the Caribbean sun, particularly after the dip Tom had just taken in the spa pool, was soothing, almost healing.

  The resort simulation’s bar was deserted. Neither Tom nor Harry had been interested in the scantily clad patrons and staff who usually filled the place. The second thing both had done upon successfully activating the program was to help themselves to margaritas before settling into a pair of partially shaded deck chairs with a stunning view of the ocean.

  The first thing hadn’t even been in question. After scrounging in the desert sands for the few edible bugs and lizards for the better part of two days, both had ordered and then wolfed down heaping plates of fresh fruit, beef and chicken kabobs, and pitchers of water until their shrunken stomachs had cried out for mercy.

  Tom felt better than he had since the first night B’Elanna had lain in his arms a few weeks earlier, and he had known that they would be together from then on. When Miral had crawled into bed between them in the middle of that night, Tom had felt what he believed was perfect happiness. But the completeness had begun to dissipate the next day when he realized that Harry wasn’t going to get over his feelings of betrayal any time soon. The next few weeks, complicated by Voyager’s visit to the Indign system and the chaos wrought by Admiral Batiste, had strained Tom to the point where he had convinced himself that he no longer cared what Harry felt. He had tried, time and again, to bridge the distance growing between them, and each time Harry
had rebuffed him. Deep down, he’d known that he’d been kidding himself in thinking that he could be happy without Harry in his life. Harry had become his brother, bound to him by ties stronger than blood. The injuries Harry had sustained during the battle at the Azure Nebula had brought Tom literally and emotionally to his knees. He’d spent sleepless days and nights by his bedside while Harry recovered at Starfleet Medical. Like it or not, Harry was a permanent fixture in Tom’s heart now. And he hated like hell that it had taken Counselor Cambridge, who Tom rarely wanted to grant anything, to bring both of them to this place of renewed harmony.

  He hated it, but he’d take it.

  “What do you think of Nancy Conlon?” Harry surprised Tom by asking out of the blue.

  Tom smiled inwardly before responding. B’Elanna had been trying to set Harry and Nancy up for weeks. But Tom also knew that when it came to Harry’s heart, it was necessary to tread lightly.

  “I like her,” he said as noncommittally as possible.

  Harry cast a sidelong glance toward him.

  “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  Tom took a deep breath.

  “I think what I think doesn’t matter,” Tom said honestly. “I think when you know you’ve met the right person, you won’t give a damn what I or anyone else has to say on the subject. And I think you’re actually ready to meet that person. Libby was holding you back, but that’s no longer the case. You want to get to know Nancy better, go for it. You could do worse.”

  “I’ve done worse,” Harry admitted frankly.

  “And I’ve done way worse,” Tom said with equal certainty.

  “You got lucky,” Harry observed.

  “I did,” Tom agreed. “And I took B’Elanna for granted for far too long. I’m still amazed she stuck by me. There’s not a day goes by now, though, that I don’t thank Chakotay’s unnamed gods for her patience and my coming to my senses.”

  “Chakotay’s unnamed gods?” Harry asked a little incredulously.

  “I always kind of liked the sound of them,” Tom said. “And they beat any other version of a supreme being I’ve ever come across.”