If he’d expected anything other than relief, he was going to be disappointed.
“Thank you, Harry,” Chakotay said, adding warmly, “I simply couldn’t imagine this mission without you aboard.”
Harry smiled faintly, a little embarrassed.
An uneasy pause followed, which Chakotay hurried to fill. “Do you mind telling me why you changed your mind?”
“I just …”
“Obviously, if you’d rather not …” Chakotay said, trying to help him out. Small steps in the right direction were a lot better than nothing, and if that was all Harry could give him right now, he’d certainly take it.
“No,” Harry said, “it’s just that I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“Okay.”
“It’s been a hard year.”
“No argument there,” Chakotay said, trying to infuse a little lightness into his tone.
“I’ve felt really out of place, even before the fleet launched.”
Chakotay nodded, hoping he would elaborate.
“And I guess I thought a clean slate might solve my problems.”
“Sometimes it’s good to get a fresh perspective,” Chakotay agreed.
“But I think I was really trying to run away from them. And that’s not a solution. It’s not even me.”
It really isn’t, Chakotay thought, but remained silent, glad that Harry had come to this realization on his own.
“I’ve still got stuff to work out, but I think it will be easier if I have my family to help me,” Harry finally finished.
“It took you a lot less time to figure that out than it did me,” Chakotay offered honestly.
Harry smiled again, not with unrepressed happiness, but with compassion.
“You know,” Chakotay continued, “when this part of our mission is over, I’d really like to take some time for you and me to catch up. There’s a lot you should know and should really hear from me.”
“That would be good,” Harry replied.
“Shall we get to work, then?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, and turned to go with what Chakotay thought was a definite spring in his step. Turning back, he added, “I’ve studied the pre-mission briefing materials for the three missing vessels, and they initiated some special security protocols in the event they encountered the Children of the Storm. I think we should consider doing the same.”
“I’ve seen those logs as well, and I agree,” Chakotay replied. “I’ve already spoken to Ensign Lasren about remaining on board to facilitate communication, should it be possible or necessary, but Tom should be coordinating our crew transfers of all other known telepaths as we speak.”
“How did Gwyn take the news?” Harry asked out of curiosity. Voyager’s energetic pilot hated to be left out of anything remotely dangerous.
“Gwyn’s a telepath?” Chakotay asked, surprised.
“No, but she’s got some empaths in her family tree, and Tom swears she flies by a sixth sense.”
“She’ll have to stay behind, then.”
Harry chuckled, presumably at the thought of Tom breaking the news to her.
As Chakotay followed him out toward the conference room, he decided that he probably didn’t deserve the devotion Harry was showing. He’d cut himself off from Harry and the rest of his Voyager family for months after Kathryn had died, even while still serving with them. Harry had almost died the last time Chakotay had led him into battle. Given the gravity of their current mission, Chakotay knew all of them were facing that possibility again. But he would do everything in his power to bring them all through it. Kathryn would have expected no less of him. More important, he expected it of himself.
Seven of Nine stood outside the door to Counselor Cambridge’s quarters for a full five minutes before it slid open. Although he had never been one to take personal grooming as seriously as protocol might have demanded, she was shocked by his appearance. His uniform jacket had been discarded and his pants and shirt were rumpled. Dark sweat stains suggested that the shirt was at least a day old. The stubble that peppered his cheeks and chin was longer than she ever remembered seeing, and his eyes were sunken. They displayed a feverish brightness, however, increasing the normal disquieting intensity with which he gazed at her. Though he was clearly seeing her, it almost seemed to Seven that in his mind, he was staring at something else with absolute fierceness.
“Seven?”
She hated to admit it, but in the last few weeks, Seven had grown accustomed to her regular counseling sessions with Cambridge and had begun to look forward to them. His directness could be discomfiting, but she rarely found cause to argue with his analysis. Since they had departed the Indign system, they had begun to discuss at length the dreams she had experienced while the “voice” that the Caeliar left behind when they transformed her Borg implants into a programmable form of matter known as catoms had been trying to convince her that she was only Annika Hansen. These troubling dreams had centered around the figure of a little girl who was part human and part Caeliar, and terrified of the Borg. Although the immediate crisis created by her transformation had passed, and the voice was now silent, Seven believed it would take months if not years of productive discussion before she would be able to make peace with her complicated nature. She had come to the conclusion that Cambridge was well equipped to facilitate this process.
Admitting that she needed help was apparently an indication that she was already better. Accepting help was harder for her.
“I tried to reach you over the comm,” she said, “but you did not answer.”
Cambridge waited expectantly, probably for her to say something that he felt required a response from him.
Growing unusually tense in his presence, Seven continued, “I will not be able to attend our regular session today as I have been called to a mission briefing.” When he only continued to stare, she said, “I assume you are also to attend the briefing, but perhaps you were not notified in time to cancel your appointments.”
“I’m not going to the meeting,” Cambridge said curtly.
“Oh,” Seven said, abashed at his dismissive tone.
“Digesting the sum total of our knowledge of the Children of the Storm is a task requiring mere seconds, and if we find that our missing fellows have escaped an encounter intact, I’m more than prepared to assist with posttraumatic stress issues.”
Although some among the crew found the counselor abrupt, Seven usually appreciated this facet of his personality. At this moment, however, she found it rude.
“And our appointment?” she asked pointedly.
Cambridge ran a hand over his stubble and replied, “I forgot.”
Seven was dumbfounded. Until this moment Cambridge had always displayed a certain deference to her. He did not coddle her, to be sure; he met her intellect and willfulness head-on. But he had finally made her feel that beneath the rough exterior, he truly cared about her in an entirely professional manner.
Before her now was a side of him she had never seen, and could frankly have lived forever without seeing. Suddenly Seven wondered if he was entirely well.
“You appear to be troubled,” she said simply. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
“Of course not,” he replied. “And I’m not ‘troubled.’ Just busy.”
Seven knew a dismissal when she heard one.
“I apologize for disturbing you,” she replied briskly, and turned to make as graceful an exit as she could muster with her heart beginning to pound in her chest and a most unwelcome heat rising in her face.
After too long a pause, he finally called after her.
“Seven?”
She chose to proceed as if she had not heard him.
The briefing had ended and Chakotay was about to leave the conference room and take his place on the bridge when the door slid open and Ensign Aytar Gwyn, his alpha-shift pilot, entered and stood at attention. She was a petite, fiery young woman who wore her hair extremely short and favored a br
ight blue tint to it.
“Why haven’t you reported to Esquiline as ordered, Ensign?” he asked abruptly.
“When I was advised of your orders, I asked Doctor Sharak to run a neural scan to confirm what I already knew to be true. While I am half-Kriosian, I’ve never really shown any strong empathic abilities. According to the doctor, whatever tendencies I have don’t even register on the standard PS scale. Given that, I’d like you to reconsider allowing me to participate in this rescue mission.”
“We’ve decided it would be best to err on the side of caution in this case, Ensign, though I do appreciate the initiative you’re demonstrating,” Chakotay replied in a tone that should have settled the matter.
“But, Captain—”
“You have been advised that we believe the Children of the Storm are capable of compromising humanoids with psionic abilities?” Chakotay asked, cutting her off.
“Yes, Captain.”
“You understand the potential risks to yourself and to the rest of us should this prove to be the case?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Gwyn asked with uncharacteristically appropriate deference.
“Go ahead.”
“Due respect, I don’t think any of us really know what the Children of the Storm are capable of. My understanding is that they chose to communicate through a female telepath. It is possible that this was because of her psionic talents, or because of her gender, or both, or neither. Ensign Lasren is remaining on board to facilitate communication, but if gender is the applicable issue here, that will not be possible. Bottom line, we’re assuming we know why the Aventine’s Ullian officer was chosen, but that assumption is based on a serious shortage of information. We do know, however, that we will need our best slipstream pilot to navigate our longest journey to date, and that’s me. I believe the skills I bring to this mission far outweigh the potential risks.” After a moment she added, “Sir.”
Chakotay considered her argument. He had to admit, she had a point, both about her abilities, which Tom had already commended in her permanent record, and the reality of what might turn out to be flawed assumptions.
“Very well,” Chakotay finally replied.
Each minute that passed as Eden sat to the right of Voyager’s center seat seemed like an eternity. The mission briefing with the senior staff had been kept mercifully short. Each department reported ready or nearly ready to depart. Commander Paris was finalizing the last of the crew transfers. Lieutenants Conlon and Kim had settled on the additional security measures they intended to implement, following Captain Farkas’s lead, all of which could be accomplished during the eighteen-hour-plus journey they would take to the last known location of Quirinal, Planck, and Demeter.
Conlon and Kim had returned to their posts and reported ready to get under way. Paris was seated to the left of Chakotay’s chair, his eyes glued to the data panel embedded in the arm of his chair. They were only waiting for the arrival of Chakotay.
Eden considered calling to him over the comm. During the briefing, he had not expressed his dissatisfaction with her choice to lead the mission, but Eden felt certain that was for the crew’s benefit. She wondered if he was more troubled by concerns for her safety or by the fact that he would have to defer to her for the duration of the mission. Eden had convinced Chakotay to stay on board and resume his command by telling him how much she needed his expertise. Perhaps he now doubted the truth of that or was uncomfortable with the idea of her looking over his shoulder. She did not intend her actions to imply a lack of faith in his abilities, but she could not control how he chose to interpret them.
Finally, Chakotay entered the bridge along with Ensign Gwyn, who took over at the helm. Turning to Paris, he said simply, “Are we ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom replied, throwing a questioning glance toward Gwyn.
Chakotay softly mouthed the word “Later,” then turned his eyes forward, saying, “Let’s get out there.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Eden breathed a silent sigh of relief to be under way.
Chapter Ten
FIFTEEN DAYS EARLIER
U.S.S. QUIRINAL
The delay between Farkas’s order to fire on the aliens and its execution seemed to drag on endlessly. Finally, however, she nodded with grim satisfaction as multiple phasers cut through the blackness, destroying several of the Children of the Storm’s vessels in one deft stroke. Demeter had begun to move out of battle formation, now made irrelevant by Planck’s absence, but Farkas couldn’t tell if the ship was moving under its own power or courtesy of the energy field that surrounded it.
At least they’re still in one piece, she thought, grateful for that much.
Assured that her weapons were as formidable as those arrayed against her, she called out, “Hold fire,” and turned again to Ti’Ana.
The young woman’s face was contorted with rage.
In a voice so cold she barely recognized it as her own, Farkas said, “It isn’t too late to end this. My ship and Demeter will leave your space and no one from the Federation will ever return if you will agree to end hostilities now.”
The alien speaking through Ti’Ana screeched her response. “You lie! You have shown yourselves to be every bit as destructive as the Borg, and you will meet the same end.” She struggled desperately against her restraints, convincing Farkas that if not for them, she would have leaped upon her and tried to rip her limb from limb.
Farkas shook her head sadly and locked eyes with Sal. No words were necessary for the doctor to understand her request. Sal tapped a button on the control panel near the door and a gold force field snapped into existence around the biobed. Confirming the efficacy of the psionic field they had developed, Ti’Ana immediately slumped down, unconscious. Sal then moved quickly to administer a hypo and began to scan her patient.
“It’s just her in there,” Sal confirmed. “She’s going to have a hell of a headache when she wakes up.”
If I get all of us out of here in time for her to wake up, Farkas reminded herself.
“Thank you, El’nor,” Farkas replied grimly as she exited the room.
Once she had gained the hall outside of sickbay, she called again to the bridge. “Farkas to Roach. We’re not out of the woods yet, Commander.”
“Captain, Commander Roach is unconscious,” came Psilakis’s voice in response.
Quickening her steps, Farkas demanded, “What the hell is going on up there?”
“At this moment, I am the only officer conscious on the bridge. The Children of the Storm can compromise officers who aren’t telepaths. Every single officer turned on me when you gave the order to fire on the aliens. I managed to stun them and have control of the situation, but I’d like to transport all of them to our detention cells until the crisis is passed.”
All of them?
Farkas couldn’t believe what she had heard. How could all of them have been taken over by the aliens? And, perhaps of greater concern, would Psilakis soon also fall victim?
Farkas’s mind reeled as she added this alarming fact to her assessment of her ship’s situation. “Make it so,” she ordered, then added, “Continue to fire at will upon the aliens’ vessels. Take out as many of them as you can. I’m on my way to join you.”
“I could definitely use the company,” Psilakis replied. “But be careful, Captain. There’s no way to know right now how many of our people—”
“Aren’t ours right now,” Farkas finished for him. “Understood.” She started to turn a corner but immediately stepped back, appalled at the mental snapshot her mind had just taken. At the end of a hallway about twenty meters from her position was the turbolift that would take her to the bridge.
Floating between her and the lift, however, was a small sphere filled with noxious-looking liquid apparently under escort by three of her people.
Oh, no.
“Computer,” she said as softly and calmly as possible, “activate emergency force field, deck twenty, section nine.”
The computer responded instantly, and she peeked around the corner to see that the escort and sphere had been halted behind a wall of blue energy. She then added, “Computer, seal all entrances and exits, deck twenty, section nine.” Though she might be locking a few people into their present locations, better that than letting them face this threat unprepared. She tapped her combadge. “Captain Farkas to all hands, intruder alert. Lieutenant Psilakis, scan the ship and contain any alien vessels present behind level-ten force fields.”
Hoping that her words were being put into effect immediately, she stepped around the corner. Her officers stood still, their faces blank. Farkas watched as the small transparent sphere floated toward the energy barrier that now divided them. It came right up to the force field, then gently touched it.
She had half hoped that contact with the field would destroy the sphere. Instead, it retreated undamaged, though the murky atmosphere within began to churn. Fear began to gnaw at her insides as the sphere paused. That fear was then justified when the sphere again purposefully touched the force field and held its position through the crackling of energy discharge created by the impact.
She waited until she could see one edge of the sphere begin to breach the field. Without further thought, she turned and began to run, mentally mapping out another route to the bridge and wondering if she would ever actually see it again. Refusing to give in to despair, she tapped her combadge and called out, “Psilakis, our force fields won’t hold them, and some of our people are apparently guiding them through the ship. Assemble security forces to engage our people. Phasers set to stun only. We’ve got to come up with another way to contain them, but do not under any circumstances fire upon any of the alien spheres.” Though they were small, the pressure contained within each sphere was immense. The energy shell would be vulnerable to a phaser fired at maximum strength, but the pressure released once the shell was punctured would easily take out half a deck, if not more.
She ducked into an alcove and strained to open a small door that accessed the Jefferies tubes on this level, determined to climb the nineteen decks separating her from the bridge if necessary. The vigor with which she attacked the ladder increased in the seconds that passed without response from the only other officer she knew could help her right now.
Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm Page 13