“What do her neural scans show?” Farkas asked.
“I assume you want a non-tech answer?”
“Always.” Farkas smirked.
“There are chemical imbalances consistent with vasoconstriction—sorry, pain. But nothing that suggests alien interference, which is what I’m sure you’re worried about.”
Farkas removed her feet from the desk and sat up straight in her chair, releasing a deep, pent-up sigh. “They’re out there, El’nor.”
“Sensors have finally picked them up?”
“No.”
“So this is your telepathy talking? Oh, wait, you don’t have that special skill.”
“I don’t need to be a telepath to know that they’re out there and they’re watching us.”
“Sold,” Sal replied, slapping her hand down on the surface of her desk. “When do we leave?”
Farkas favored her with her most withering glare.
“When something other than my overactive imagination confirms that suspicion, or nine more days of unbearable waiting pass, whichever comes first,” she replied.
Sal considered her briefly. “You really think you’re imagining danger out there?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, because I’m not qualified to act as your therapist, and our ship’s counselor is in stasis in cargo bay three. Of course, if I were qualified I’d tell you that you are obligated to act in accordance with your experience, and if your gut is telling you we’re in danger right now, you should do something about it.”
“You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“No crazier than I did when you asked me to forgo my well-earned retirement and follow you out here on this fool’s errand.”
Farkas was truly puzzled. “You think exploring the Delta Quadrant is an insignificant task?”
“I think we haven’t even seen all of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants yet, so I’m not sure what the rush is to push our knowledge all the way out here.”
“The Borg came from here,” Farkas reminded her.
“And the Dominion came from the Gamma Quadrant,” Sal replied. “But we’ve got enemies enough a lot closer to home and plenty of sights unseen to last both of us the rest of our lives without going looking for fights we’re probably not prepared to face.”
“When did you get so cynical?”
“I’ve always been this cynical, Regina. It’s why we’re friends. You need someone to balance the cockeyed adventurer in you,” Sal replied with a hint of bitterness.
“If you didn’t want to come out here, El’nor, you could have just said so.”
“I did,” Sal replied dryly. “But you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Only because I didn’t want you to miss all this fun,” Farkas said, attempting levity.
“Thanks so much. When I start having some, I’ll be sure and let you know.”
“Bridge to Captain Farkas.”
“Go ahead,” Farkas replied after tapping her combadge.
“You have a transmission from Captain T’Mar.”
“Patch it through to Doctor Sal’s office,” Farkas requested, and Sal dutifully turned the screen so that Farkas could see it. The neural scans she’d been studying were replaced by a few wavy lines, and finally the face of the Planck’s captain.
“Do we have an epidemic of insomnia going around?” Farkas greeted him by asking.
“I’m just about to turn in,” T’Mar replied, “but I wanted to run this by you. I’m calling in Demeter for a supply transfer. Our replicators are still down and the crew is getting a little tired of ration packs.”
Sal shook her head and rolled her eyes and had no doubt Regina would have done the same if not for the fact that T’Mar could see her.
“You think surviving for a few more days on emergency rations is too great a hardship for your crew to bear, Hosc?”
“It’s definitely affecting morale,” T’Mar replied, sounding a little taken aback by Regina’s question.
Children, Sal thought bitterly. They’ve sent us out into the unknown leading a pack of children. It might have been unfair to judge Starfleet too harshly for this, given the number of officers and crewmen they’d lost a few months earlier, but that didn’t mollify Sal—or Regina, from the look on her face.
“Obviously it’s your call, Captain,” Regina said evenly. “But I could more easily send you a few of my people to help repair your replicators.”
Because your people are better than his, Regina? Sal thought with a shake of her head. Somehow she already knew this conversation wasn’t going to end well.
“Beldon has already confirmed that it’s a system integration error,” Hosc replied sternly. “I trust his assessment. And I don’t think your crew has time to replicate two hundred plus meals a day for my crew, let alone transfer them over.”
Reasonable as the response was, Sal knew what T’Mar was really thinking. He was the younger and less experienced of the two captains, but he couldn’t bear the idea that he wasn’t in complete control of his own ship. Regina could make suggestions, peer to peer, but he was going to make the final call, right or wrong. A more experienced officer would have taken Regina’s suggestion in stride, and accepted it. Good as Starfleet’s engineers were, they were hardly interchangeable parts. One might easily see what another had overlooked. T’Mar just didn’t have the wisdom or the inclination to see past the offense he was obviously taking from Regina’s attitude.
“My people are really looking forward to a little fresh food,” T’Mar continued. “And unless I’m mistaken, that was the point of Demeter being out here.”
Regina shook her head too subtly for T’Mar to notice. “Understood. I would, however, suggest that you instruct Demeter to approach at impulse speed. It will take a little longer, of course, but for safety’s sake, I think it’s worth it.”
“Of course, Captain,” T’Mar granted her, as if he’d already come to the same conclusion, though Sal was willing to bet he hadn’t. He’d already mentally written this mission off, otherwise he never would have considered bringing a ship with minimal defenses into a potentially hazardous area. “Good night, Captain Farkas.”
“Night. Quirinal out,” Regina replied, tapping the controls more strenuously than was necessary before glancing sheepishly toward Sal. “What the hell is he compensating for?” she asked.
“Three guesses,” Sal teased. “And the first two don’t count.”
“If this is all it takes to shake his crew’s morale, we’re in more trouble than I thought,” Farkas said harshly.
“He’s young,” Sal admonished her. “And he wants to make sure you know that his pips are just as shiny as yours despite the fact that he was still in preschool when you were given your first command. If it weren’t for the Borg, he’d still be serving as someone else’s energetic first officer for another five years at least. Logic isn’t going to get you anywhere with this one. He’s going to have to learn these lessons the hard way, just like we did.”
Regina dropped her face into the palm of her hand. “What was Command thinking?” she asked softly.
“That this would be fun?” Sal asked wanly.
U.S.S. DEMETER
“Transcription error,” the computer’s voice said for the hundredth time that night.
Commander Liam O’Donnell had heard these words thousands of times in his career as a botanical geneticist, and they never failed to insult him.
As he still had several hundred samples to test, however, he forged ahead.
“Analysis of sample CR-H-94855-K,” O’Donnell requested.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” he said aloud before the computer could respond.
“Transcription error,” they said simultaneously.
Why did I go back to protoplast fusion? O’Donnell asked himself as the next five samples also returned with transcription errors. His work with Crateva religiosa-Kressari had begun over twenty years earlier, down a similar and ultimately useless path.
Because everything else you’ve tried has also failed, Alana answered kindly.
Her presence in his mind was so real that these conversations had long since ceased to disturb him. There was rarely anyone else in the room smart enough to follow his reasoning, let alone step ahead of it and provide sensible suggestions. That privilege had been and always would be hers and hers alone. He resisted the temptation to pull her image up on the lab’s viewscreen. There was simply too much work to be done right now for him to indulge in a more lengthy discussion.
“Computer, analysis of sample CR-H-94861-K?”
“Excuse me, Captain?”
O’Donnell actually jumped in his chair and turned to see his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Atlee Fife, his round face and large brown eyes incongruous on his fragile-looking frame, standing at attention at the door to the lab.
“Is something on fire, Commander?” O’Donnell asked seriously.
“Not at this time, sir,” Fife replied.
“Are we under attack by an alien species?”
“No, sir.”
“Is anyone dead?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how can I possibly be of assistance to you, Commander?” O’Donnell asked gently.
O’Donnell thought he’d been perfectly clear with Fife since day one of the mission. Anything that fell into the above categories required his attention. Anything else, he was perfectly content to leave to Fife’s obvious good judgment. It was an unusual relationship between a captain and a first officer, but O’Donnell had been made captain of this vessel due to his botanical expertise, despite his limited command experience, and O’Donnell had hand-picked Fife as his XO. Based upon his record and their few interactions to date, it was clear to O’Donnell that Fife lived and breathed to perfect the art of his position. He would likely receive his own command when the fleet returned to the Alpha Quadrant in three years. O’Donnell felt it was a nicely symbiotic relationship that, over time, would provide him with the maximum amount of time he needed to complete his personal projects while still enabling him to do the absolute minimum Starfleet required of him as Demeter’s commanding officer. Willem Batiste had promised O’Donnell that this would be more than sufficient when he had pulled him from his research lab for this assignment and offered him his choice of first officers. O’Donnell would have liked to refuse this request, but the admiral hadn’t given him the option. Batiste had insisted that O’Donnell was the best in his field—no argument there—and all but promised him three years of peace and quiet. O’Donnell had taken him at his word.
“We’ve received a request from Planck,” Fife explained.
“Are they on fire?” O’Donnell asked.
“No, Captain,” Fife replied, “but they have requested that we travel to their position and provide a transfer of organic foodstuffs to supplement their emergency rations. Their replicators …”
“Have been on the fritz since we got out here, I know,” O’Donnell said, nodding. “They reported as much before we separated.”
After an uncomfortable silence, Fife asked, “Shall I inform them that we will comply with their request?”
O’Donnell sat back and scratched the shiny top of his balding head. You could always look again at the spheroplasts … maybe the radiation levels are too low, Alana suggested.
“Sir?” Fife interrupted his thoughts.
“Whatever you think is best, Commander,” O’Donnell replied.
But if the somaclonal variation occurs again … Alana continued.
“I am inclined to agree to Planck’s request, sir, but they have suggested we approach at sublight speed, which I fear poses unnecessary risks, exposing us to danger for a longer period of time. I believe we should approach at maximum warp and make the transfers as soon as possible. I’ve asked Ensigns Schiller and Megdal to begin collecting the supplies, and they should be done shortly. The entire mission should take under five hours.”
O’Donnell stopped calculating radiation levels in his head long enough to meet Fife’s eyes.
“I’ll advise you when the mission is complete, Captain,” Fife said.
“Very good, Atlee. You’re a quick study, I’ll give you that.” O’Donnell nodded.
Without another word, Fife quickly turned and exited the lab.
Just not learning quickly enough, he decided.
He’s young, my darling, Alana reminded him. Give him time.
Chapter Five
STARDATE 58451.4
U.S.S. VOYAGER
Neelix looked around the table set in Chakotay’s private dining room, a luxury that had been denied Captain Janeway years earlier when Neelix had turned hers into the ship’s galley, and marveled at the vicissitudes of destiny. Three years earlier he had bid each of the friends sitting before him a fond farewell, wishing them all the best but knowing in his heart and soul that his future now lay along a path different from theirs. To see them now, Chakotay, Tom, B’Elanna, Harry, Seven, and the Doctor, it was almost as if he were looking at different people.
Chakotay, the man who had once convinced him that life was truly worth living but had always seemed reluctant to embrace that truth to its fullest, was now Voyager’s captain. Neelix could only guess at the bittersweet nature of that reality. It would have been one thing assuming command, as he did, upon Captain Janeway’s promotion to admiral. But to carry the mantle of command in a universe where Kathryn Janeway no longer lived was not a fate he would have wished on anyone. Something had changed in Chakotay. Neelix couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He seemed more at peace than Neelix had expected, more certain of himself, and yet unutterably sad. He had always known that the still waters at the center of Chakotay’s soul had run deep, but now they seemed fathomless. Had the two of them been closer, he might have suggested they spend some time by a campfire on the holodeck. As it was, he could only hope that there was someone on Voyager’s crew Chakotay could turn to—never to replace Kathryn, but to offer him a little perspective in her absence. Thus far, he hadn’t gotten the sense that Captain Eden, who was not present, would ever be that person. And that was just as well, in Neelix’s opinion. No reason to repeat the past; better to forge a new future.
B’Elanna and Tom were the picture of marital bliss. Neelix knew well what that looked like, having enjoyed three years of it himself with his beloved Dexa. He knew Tom and B’Elanna had been separated by circumstance for a number of years, but they seemed to have picked up in a better place than they’d left off. Tom’s confidence, once a mirage masking deep insecurities, was now the genuine article. B’Elanna, who had always seemed so young to Neelix, had settled into a more calm and patient version of the fiery warrior he had first met. Her obvious strength was now tempered by darker experiences than he would have wished upon her, but the irreplaceable sense of renewal that a child brought to one’s life was also clear in her countenance.
Of all of them, Harry seemed to have aged the most. Perhaps that was simply because he’d had further than any of them to go when Voyager’s first mission had begun. Vibrant as ever, but less concerned by the potential of a misstep, he joined his friends in easy conversation. It seemed to Neelix as if he had crossed an invisible border, separating youth from the prime of life. Neelix did not doubt he would make the most of it.
Seven was a puzzle. Though she had spoken of contentment, there was a new restlessness in the woman who had once prided herself on dignified control. Neelix doubted that she knew yet what she was seeking. He’d heard briefly about the discovery of the Caeliar and the transformation, both physical and mental, that the end of the Borg had wrought in Seven. Her physical beauty was as fierce as ever, especially now that it was no longer clouded by Borg technology on her face and hands. But there was a new hesitancy in her that was disarming and brought Neelix’s protective nature to the forefront.
Even the Doctor was a new man in some respects. Neelix understood little about the technical aspect of his nature, despite the fact that he had live
d with him for seven years. Neelix had never been able to see the Doctor as anything but a trusted friend. It seemed that the new opportunities presented by his work aboard the Galen, an experimental medical vessel he had helped design, and staffed largely by holograms, were stretching the Doctor in ways he had never anticipated. He spoke with great enthusiasm of the challenges presented in his work but—Neelix couldn’t help but note—nothing about his personal life. Neelix knew he couldn’t leave before taking some time to make sure the Doctor was still placing enough emphasis on his personal relationships, as well as his professional ones. Kes would never have forgiven him otherwise.
As he considered each of them in turn, however, his heart could not help but feel a certain emptiness as well. It was almost grace enough to have been granted this time with so many of his friends. But inevitably his thoughts turned to those whose absence was most keenly felt.
Turning to Chakotay, who was seated at his right, Neelix asked softly, “What has become of our dear Mister Vulcan? B’Elanna mentioned he had accepted a new assignment, but she didn’t really know the details.”
“When we first got back, he joined the staff at Starfleet Academy,” Chakotay replied. “Icheb said he was the hardest teacher he’d had, but I think he appreciated seeing a familiar face on a daily basis.”
“I would think the training he received here would have made the Academy a little easier for him,” Neelix observed.
“He excelled as a student,” Seven said. “He was not in any of my classes, but my fellow instructors always spoke well of him, and his academic record was outstanding. When he graduates at the end of the coming year, he will surely receive a challenging position.”
Neelix smiled at the obvious pride with which Seven reported Icheb’s progress.
“I think after a while, however,” Chakotay went on, returning to Neelix’s original question, “Tuvok found he missed life on a starship. He accepted an assignment with Starfleet Intelligence on Romulus and was taken prisoner.”
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