Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Didn’t we discover that they were just an alien race?” Harry asked.

  “I think those were technically the Sky People, weren’t they? I don’t think—”

  “What have we here?” a strident voice interrupted their musings.

  Tom turned to see his pristine view blocked by the form of Counselor Hugh Cambridge dressed in a flowing monochrome robe and wearing a black plastic headpiece that accentuated a widow’s peak his real hairline would certainly have envied.

  “Oh, hey, Counselor,” Harry said with a cheeky grin. “Something to drink? It’s an open bar.”

  Cambridge favored both of them with a piercing glare. “I’m on duty,” he said curtly.

  “We’re not.” Tom smiled, stretching his arms over his head luxuriously and relocating them comfortably behind his neck.

  Crossing his arms over his chest in what Tom sensed was feigned annoyance, Cambridge said, “I don’t recall either of you gaining access to my castle in order to destroy my Death Ray.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry said without conviction. “Truth is, we got a little … what would you say?” he asked Tom.

  “Bored?”

  “Bored, right,” Harry agreed. “Feel free to destroy the galaxy whenever the mood strikes you, your lordliness.”

  Cambridge considered them both, his eyes darting back and forth in a way that was truly comical given his regalia, and finally said, “That’s the first time in weeks I’ve seen the two of you agree on anything. I hereby pronounce you both cured and return you to active duty.”

  Tom and Harry sat up simultaneously.

  “No—”

  “Wait—”

  “We’re not—”

  “He’s a jerk—”

  “I am—”

  “Tom—”

  “No, I hate him—” both insisted, hopelessly overlapping one another’s attempts to refute the counselor.

  “I see,” Cambridge replied. After a moment he went on, “I might be inclined to reconsider my diagnosis on one condition.”

  “Name it,” Harry pleaded.

  “How did you manage to reprogram my simulation?”

  “Oh, that was nothing.” Harry shrugged.

  “Nothing for you,” Tom acknowledged.

  “True.”

  “Gentlemen, I’m still waiting,” Cambridge interjected.

  “I’ve been mucking around inside the guts of our holosuites for years,” Harry said. “If it wasn’t interdimensional aliens crossing over …”

  “Or the Hirogen,” Tom added.

  “Don’t remind me,” Harry said.

  “So you’re a whiz at overriding the security lockouts?” Cambridge asked.

  “Yes, and no,” Harry admitted.

  “Go on.”

  “I have a back door,” Harry said somewhat sheepishly.

  “Do tell, Lieutenant.”

  Sitting up to explain, Harry went on, “I actually wasn’t sure it would still be there, but I guess the folks at Project Full Circle must have missed it.”

  “Or didn’t know what they were looking at,” Tom suggested.

  “Probably.” Harry nodded. “We had a major security breach a few years back when one of our former crewmates, Seska, created a program that was designed to kill the crew.”

  “Seska was already dead, and she still almost killed us,” Tom added.

  “There was no way to survive the program and no way to shut it down from the outside,” Harry went on. “Once we figured out how to rewrite it, I installed a fail-safe so that I would never again be denied access to the main programming. After our last series of refits, I thought it was a long shot, but turns out my overrides were still there.”

  Cambridge shook his head. “I never expected to use this adjective to describe either of you, but I’m afraid I have no choice,” he said finally. “Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.”

  “But that doesn’t mean we’re cured,” Tom insisted.

  “Clearly not.” Cambridge smirked. “And just how long before you think you might both be willing to behave civilly toward one another?”

  “At least a few hours,” Harry replied.

  “At least,” Tom agreed.

  “Fine,” the counselor said, “but I’m not going to explain another night’s absence to your wife, Commander Paris.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tom said. “I’ve got your back on this one.”

  Cambridge stiffened. “I can’t tell you how that thought terrifies me.”

  “You get used to it,” Harry assured him.

  Nodding, Cambridge said simply, “As you were,” and strode out looking positively ridiculous.

  “You were saying?” Harry asked without missing a beat.

  “I don’t remember,” Tom admitted.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Harry shrugged. “I think I’m going to ask Conlon out.”

  Tom smiled as he resettled himself in his lounge chair.

  Seven of Nine lay perfectly still on her belly in the dense underbrush. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead to the tip of her nose, where it itched to the point of distraction. She tried to ignore it, took several slow, shallow breaths, and finally succumbed, shaking her head gingerly.

  The faint rustle she created by this action was all it took. A wild shriek of victory was followed by a dull thud that knocked the wind out of her as thirty-five pounds of one-quarter-Klingon joy landed squarely on her back.

  “Found you!” Miral shouted at the top of her lungs.

  “So you have,” Seven acknowledged, turning over and adjusting the child slightly so that she now sat astride her waist. “And for that, you will be tickled.”

  “Noooo!” Miral wailed, raising her arms, which only made it easier for Seven to run light fingers up the child’s ribcage, sending her into a fit of giggles as she impishly struggled to extricate herself from Seven’s hands. She finally succeeded in rolling onto the soft earth of the park Seven had selected for their afternoon of play on the secondary holodeck. Seven had been surprised when she arrived at the main holodeck with Miral an hour earlier to find that it was still in use by Commander Paris and Lieutenant Kim. Their “counseling” session had become the worst-kept secret on the ship. Seven had begun to wonder if both of them would make it out in one piece.

  “My turn, my turn, my turn,” Miral cried out joyfully as she pushed herself to her feet and her plump little legs ran toward the top of a small hill.

  “It is your turn to hide,” Seven agreed, rising and hurrying after her. “And for that …”

  “No tickles, no tickles!” Miral ordered, turning on Seven defiantly.

  “When I find you, you will be tickled,” Seven assured her.

  Miral seemed to consider the proposition.

  “Tickle you,” she decided, rushing at Seven and managing to grab her firmly by one leg, which succeeded in toppling Seven over to one side.

  “No, no.” Seven pretended to gasp, which only encouraged Miral further. Together they rolled and tickled, laughing and squealing at the top of their lungs until they finally landed side by side on their backs, both struggling to regain their breath beneath a cloudless, bright blue sky.

  Seven closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling simple delight, until a shadow fell upon her, blocking the sun. Opening her eyes quickly, she saw a familiar but totally unexpected face grinning at her from above.

  “And what do we have here?” Neelix asked.

  “Neelix!” Seven said, smiling in astonishment as she pushed herself up off the ground and found herself pulled into a vigorous hug. When the two separated, Seven turned to see Miral staring up at both of them quizzically. Neelix immediately dropped to one knee to bring himself to the child’s eye level.

  “Hello, Miral,” he said warmly. “Do you remember me?”

  Miral almost did.

  “I’m Neelix. You came to visit my home a little while ago.”

  “Dexa,” Miral said very softly.

  “Yes,” Neelix said, his smi
le brightening. “My wife is Dexa. She read you stories when you weren’t feeling well. You look much better now.”

  “Hide!” Miral ordered.

  Neelix turned a questioning face to Seven.

  “We’re playing hide-and-seek,” she explained.

  “Hide!” Miral insisted again.

  “It’s your turn to hide, Miral,” Seven suggested.

  Miral pointed at a nearby tree, which had been designated their “counting” tree for the duration of the game.

  “We will count to ten,” Seven agreed. “Now hurry up and hide.”

  Miral needed no further encouragement. She took off like a shot toward a small thicket as Seven and Neelix made their way over to the tree and Seven began to count in a voice loud enough for Miral to hear.

  “Seven, you look wonderful,” Neelix said once Seven had finished counting.

  “As do you,” she replied. “What are you doing here?”

  “You lost a shuttle,” he said simply. “I’m returning it to you.”

  Seven’s face clouded a bit as she realized which shuttle he must be referring to.

  “You were not injured when you retrieved it?” she said with hope.

  “No,” he assured her. “It was abandoned.”

  “Good,” Seven replied with a nod. “B’Elanna said she had seen you and that you and your people are well. I’ve been meaning to contact you again. I know it has been a long while.”

  “Too long,” Neelix gently chided her. “But this brings back wonderful memories, doesn’t it?” he said lightly.

  “Naomi is entering the Academy this fall,” Seven said, realizing that he could only be referring to the pleasant hours both of them had spent playing with Naomi Wildman years earlier on this very same holodeck.

  “I heard,” Neelix said. “I can’t believe how fast she has grown.”

  “Time does pass with alarming swiftness,” Seven acknowledged. “How long will you be able to stay?”

  “Through the night,” Neelix replied. “Then I have to get back.”

  Seven understood, but she had hoped for more.

  “Seven!” Miral shouted from the thicket. Clearly she had settled on her hiding place and was anxious for Seven to find her.

  “Duty calls.” Neelix grinned.

  “That it does,” Seven replied, rolling her eyes.

  “Just tell me,” he said quickly, “are you as happy as you look right now?”

  Seven gave the question a brief thought. “I am content,” she replied. “And sometimes, yes, very happy.”

  “I’ve missed you,” Neelix admitted.

  “And you have been missed,” Seven assured him.

  Chapter Four

  SIXTEEN DAYS EARLIER

  U.S.S. PLANCK

  Hosc T’Mar had hoped for better things when he had first been briefed about this mission. The opportunity to investigate a noncorporeal species thought to have originated in a gas giant’s atmosphere was one no scientist with a passion for xenobiology could resist. And the fact that this species could communicate with humanoids was a bonus. Hosc was in complete agreement with Admiral Batiste that surprise contact such as had been made with Aventine would not be in anyone’s best interests, but it seemed likely that in the absence of any other possibilities—or telepaths—the Children of the Storm would use their intended “communicator” aboard Quirinal, and a real exchange of ideas and information could be established.

  Looking back on the past three days since they had finally reached their “safe” distance, however, he felt his hopes sinking. According to the Aventine’s logs, the aliens had made contact with the Federation vessels within an hour of their arrival. True, Planck and Quirinal were keeping a respectful distance, two full light-years from the debris ring that surrounded their system, but he couldn’t imagine that the Children didn’t possess long-range scanning abilities that should have made the Federation ships visible. It was possible that Quirinal and Planck had already been written off as nonthreatening and, therefore, uninteresting. It was also possible that by entering the area at low speeds, Planck and Quirinal had gone undetected thus far.

  Or maybe Captain Dax made up these mysterious aliens just to have a little fun with us, Hosc thought ungenerously. This far out in the Delta Quadrant, who was ever going to check?

  Though he doubted this last—it would have been unthinkable coming from a Starfleet officer—he had begun to wonder if he and Captain Farkas were going to return from this mission with anything more to report than the specifics of the five nearest star systems, unremarkable and none of them capable of sustaining intelligent life, and a massive debris field composed entirely of what had once been hundreds of Borg vessels.

  Nothing we haven’t seen before, Hosc thought wearily, though he had to admit that there was something darkly satisfying in the sight of the Borg graveyard.

  In the absence of anything interesting to sink their teeth into, his crew had been debating for three days the possible origins of a few subspace variations they had picked up. Most believed they indicated that long ago, transwarp tunnels had been present in the area. Otherwise, there were no spatial or subspace anomalies present to warrant further comment.

  Not much for his first view of the Delta Quadrant. Perhaps their next mission would prove at least a little more stimulating, if not scientifically fascinating.

  Hosc was ready to end his day with a review of a few reports from his crew. The most important came from his first officer, Lieutenant Tregart. Shortly after Quirinal, Planck, and Demeter had left the rest of the fleet behind to begin this mission, Planck’s replicator system had gone on the fritz. Apparently there were misalignments that might have occurred during their long slipstream flight, and were proving impossible to fix. The replicators themselves were fine. Their integration with Planck was the issue. Fortunately, the problem should be resolved once they rendezvoused with Achilles and the system could be dismantled. In the interim, there was nothing more Lieutenant Beldon, his chief engineer, could do. Beldon had been working around the clock to try and coax something edible from the replicators, but nothing had met safety standards. The crew had been restricted to emergency rations and vitamin supplements for the last five days. This was hardly an unendurable hardship for a deep-space mission; however, with nothing more serious to occupy the crew’s mind, it was becoming a morale problem, especially since they were looking at another nine days of the same regimen.

  Tregart had requested that Demeter be called in to provide organic foodstuffs to supplement rations. As this was one of Demeter’s primary functions within the fleet, it seemed a reasonable request. Hosc doubted that there were any safety issues at this point. This far from the territory of the Children of the Storm there seemed little to fear.

  Hosc made a note to clear the decision with Captain Farkas, a courtesy he felt no compunction observing, and approved Tregart’s request before moving on to the other mundane matters requiring his attention.

  U.S.S. QUIRINAL

  Captain Farkas couldn’t sleep. Gamma shift was well under way, and every item on her to-do list had been completed. By all rights she should have been curled up in her bunk, catching a few hours of relaxation, if not actual rest. But her mind refused to settle. A certainty in her gut had set her walking the decks in the hope that a pleasant stroll would convince her that all was well and that her gut was wrong.

  Problem was, her gut was rarely wrong, and she had learned the hard way over the years to ignore it at her peril.

  They’re watching us.

  That was the warning, though the captain had not a single shred of evidence to back it up. None of the multiple scans of the area had resulted in any conclusive readings suggesting the presence of life-forms like the ones described by Captain Dax. Searches matching the exact recorded specifications had all been negative.

  This could mean one of three things. The Children of the Storm did not exist. The Children of the Storm were no longer in the system of space they had decl
ared “theirs” and worked for a century to purge of the Borg. Or—and this was by far the most likely as far as Farkas was concerned—the Children of the Storm were right where Dax had left them, but had found a way to shield themselves from the Federation vessel’s sensors.

  So the next obvious question was: What are they waiting for? Again, there were a handful of possibilities. They had not detected Quirinal and Planck. Possible, but not terribly likely. They had detected Quirinal and Planck and were not interested in making contact. Not the best of all possible worlds, but certainly preferable to the next option. They had detected Quirinal and Planck and were planning an attack on their unwelcome visitors.

  Farkas couldn’t imagine what kind of attack would take them three days to plan, especially considering their success against the Borg. But it was her job to imagine it, and as the silent hours rolled by she felt the tension in the pit of her stomach ratcheting ever tighter by a sense of impending doom.

  Tired of listening to these doubts rattle around in her mind, she turned her steps toward sickbay, where her oldest friend was certainly still working and might at least give her some much-needed perspective.

  Doctor Sal heard the faint hiss of the door to sickbay opening and turned from her desk’s computer interface to see Regina entering her private office.

  “Can’t sleep?” Sal diagnosed immediately.

  Farkas shook her head. “I’m leading a mission to an unexplored area of space that reportedly contains an extremely dangerous alien race. What’s your excuse?”

  Sal smiled faintly. “I’m attempting to solve a medical mystery.”

  Taking the seat opposite Sal and propping her feet up between them on the doctor’s desk, Regina stifled a yawn. “You know me. I love a good mystery.”

  “Oh, I didn’t say it was good.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “It’s Ti’Ana.”

  The wrench in Farkas’s stomach clicked one notch tighter.

  “Still complaining of headaches?” Farkas asked.

  “They’ve gone from a five on the pain scale to a nine in the last few hours,” Sal replied, gently rubbing her temples. “I’ve sedated her for the time being, but I don’t see that as a long-term solution.”