Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

by Kirsten Beyer

  “At the time, that was a greater concern, and I’m not entirely sure that’s not part of it as well. I’ve had a number of discussions with him that made me feel like I wasn’t the only person in the room he was talking to.”

  “He’s eccentric,” Url conceded, “but he’s also one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I don’t want to throw the word genius around casually, but if he actually created a species of plant that would thrive on the system’s fourth planet in a couple of days, the shoe might just fit.”

  “We’ll never know if he did or not.”

  “But that’s not his fault.”

  Fife paused, his face unreadable. “Then should I assume you do not concur with my assessment?”

  This time Url took a few moments of silence. Finally he said reluctantly, “I didn’t say that.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Unable to believe he was actually contemplating mutiny, Url asked, “How do you intend to proceed?”

  “By my estimation, we have a minimum of five more days until we are missed by the fleet. They will, no doubt, come looking for us, but without our help, I don’t believe any rescue mission will succeed. We saw what the Children did to Quirinal and Planck. Even if Voyager and Esquiline both come to our aid, there’s no way to tell for sure that they will be successful. There is also no way for us to be certain that the spheres currently visible on our scanners comprise the entirety of the force arrayed against us.

  “I believe we should prepare the drones, as we discussed, along with the phaser targeting solutions. I will speak with Vincent and Falto. If, or more precisely, when we detect any other Federation vessels, we should proceed with our plan and attempt to free ourselves. Any other ship present would then be able to aid in our efforts and hopefully effect escape for all of us.”

  “And what are your intentions for the captain?” Url asked.

  “I will relieve him of command and secure him in his quarters.”

  Url nodded faintly. “One thing, Commander?”

  “Yes?” Fife asked.

  “If in the interim Captain O’Donnell does come up with an alternate plan that might convince our captors to release us, he will have my full support.”

  “Along with mine,” Fife assured him.

  Url wanted to take him at his word, but in his heart, he didn’t believe Fife for a moment. Faintly nauseated by what had just transpired between them, Url rose and returned to his post. He was in no hurry to die, and Fife’s might truly be the only chance he had to avoid that. But somehow, even considering betraying the captain felt worse than death. It went against the oath he had taken such pride in swearing when he joined Starfleet. To stand with Fife was to become something less than he had promised to be.

  Silently he prayed that O’Donnell would find a better solution before he was forced to take an action he never believed he would have to contemplate.

  O’Donnell’s lab was a mess. One corner of his worktable had been reserved for his latest attempts to coax his beloved Crateva religiosa-K into existence. The rest was filled with fresh specimen containers all containing the noxious semifluid equivalent of the atmosphere contained within the energy shell inhabited by the Children of the Storm.

  Glancing at them, he decided he could forgo the computer’s analysis. Small black specks dotted each of the containers, clearly indicating his failure.

  So far, he reminded himself.

  What he was now attempting made his work on the Goldroni kurnit and all he had achieved on Kressari look like child’s play. Even his most recent hybrid grass specimen had been nothing compared to what he now contemplated.

  It was exactly the kind of problem on which Liam O’Donnell thrived.

  Turning away from the lifeless specimens, he took a moment to examine his latest group of CRK attempts. He methodically transferred one after another to the tray of his microspectrometer and scanned quickly through each of his failures.

  The third to the last sample, however, gave him pause. He should have been looking at a single, dead cell. Instead, he found himself peering at two dead cells.

  You divided?

  The thrill of possibility quickened his pulse. In twenty years of work, he had never achieved the level of metabolism required for cellular division in a single sample. He hurried to his data terminal and called up the second-by-second analysis of the sample’s progress. Nineteen hours into the experiment, he watched in awe as the single cell duplicated itself.

  Of course, this sent him searching for the potential cause. It, too, was relatively easy to find. The sample’s growth medium had been contaminated. An unusually high level of metallic hydrogen was present in the dish. He would have chided himself for his carelessness; clearly he had used one of the specimen containers meant for the Children’s project. But that happy accident had shown him the path to what he was now convinced would lead to ultimate success.

  When he had imagined the life of a single flowering Crateva religiosa-K, he had always seen himself returning to Kressari to plant it atop Alana’s grave. It almost broke his heart to realize that now, he would likely never see it bloom there. It seemed this creation was only meant to thrive in the most inhospitable of environments.

  A single tear slid down his face.

  We’re almost there, Alana.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  STARDATE 58464.3

  U.S.S. VOYAGER

  Ensign Gwyn didn’t think she needed to wait for Seven’s analysis from astrometrics to confirm what was plain to the naked eye. The gas giant Voyager was now orbiting, the second they had scanned in search of an ancient alien life-form, was not the one they sought.

  As the captain and fleet commander conferred quietly behind her, she studied the next set of coordinates. She didn’t think it would do any harm to key them into the navigational array.

  Save time where you can, Aytar, she thought.

  As she began to enter them, however, her index finger betrayed her and missed two digits. Just as an error in typing into a padd registered in her unconscious before she could read the mistake, her brain automatically paused and told her to look again at what she was doing.

  She saw the error immediately, but also noted that the coordinates weren’t exactly wrong, they were simply farther down on the list of their intended targets.

  Anxious for this to be over? she teased her own mind. But the longer she stared at the coordinate she had entered, the more something in her stomach tickled.

  Gwyn knew this feeling all too well. When she had been a child, she had promised her mother that she would restrict her play to the yard, but sheer naughtiness had called her to explore beyond the fence to the far more interesting creek that ran through a valley beyond their home. Whenever she did so, she had felt the same tickle. She had initially mistaken it for the thrill of misbehaving. In time, however, she had realized that it was a sign of her mother’s psionic connection to her only daughter. It wasn’t that Yasim Gwyn hadn’t trusted Aytar. There was simply no severing the bond between a Kriosian female and her offspring.

  Her mother was over fifty thousand light-years from her present location and could not possibly have known that her daughter was again contemplating mischief. But something in that tickle convinced Gwyn that she had not, in fact, erred in entering the coordinates.

  “Helm,” came Captain Chakotay’s voice from behind her. “Enter our next scheduled coordinates and report when we are ready to proceed.”

  “Captain, if I may?” Gwyn asked.

  “What is it, Ensign?”

  “I have already entered the coordinates for one of our targets, but it is the last one we were scheduled to investigate.”

  Silently Gwyn searched for a way to explain her instinct that they should proceed according to her mistake and, unfortunately, came up short.

  “Rectify the mistake, Ensign,” Eden ordered.

  Gwyn sighed, then turned in her seat to face her commanding officers.

  “I’m not t
rying to be difficult, I promise,” she began, noting a faint smirk from Lieutenant Kim, who was stationed just above Captain Chakotay. “But we’re not really going to lose any time by altering the schedule, and, well, I have a hunch.”

  “A hunch?” Chakotay said, requesting clarification.

  “It’s hard to explain, Captain, but I just feel like this is our best bet.”

  Chakotay exchanged a glance with Eden.

  “The planet she is suggesting we head for next is the farthest from the known territory of the Children of the Storm,” Kim advised from tactical.

  Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Gwyn thought, until Kim added, “Which in some ways does make it more likely to be the one we’re looking for.”

  “How do you figure?” Paris piped up to ask.

  “It’s also part of a system whose star has almost reached the end of its life,” Kim added. “We are looking for something pretty old, right?”

  Chakotay again looked to Eden, who simply shrugged.

  “All right,” Chakotay replied. “We’ll go with our helmsman’s hunch on this one,” he said lightly.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Gwyn said, and hurried to complete the navigational computer calculations.

  A few moments later she reported that they were ready to proceed.

  “Engage,” Chakotay ordered.

  In his mind, Kenth Lasren was climbing a narrow path surrounded by a riot of lush, green vegetation. The Muoni canyon was one of Betazed’s most beautiful landscapes, and his family had spent summers there when he was a boy. Every morning had begun with this hike, which wound lazily through dense brush before opening into verdant hills topped with a spectacular waterfall.

  Although the scenery was magnificent, Kenth spent less time fixating on its beauty and more recapturing the sense of utter freedom he’d felt as he made his way ever upward toward the falls. Everything about the path had been an invitation, and his heart had pounded with excitement with each step, anticipating the release at the trail’s peak.

  He continued the remembered climb, reaching out gently to the inhabitants of the sphere, hoping against hope that even if they did not understand the context of the vision he was sending, they could at least relate to the joyous and wondrous abandon the memory brought him.

  Finally he reached the peak, the sound of crashing water filling his ears. He stepped gingerly into the river, careful to keep his footing until he reached the large rock in the center of the river from which he would launch himself. With the fearlessness of the child he had been, he climbed atop the rock, opened his arms, and inhaled deeply.

  Come with me, he pleaded with the Children.

  Bending his knees, Lasren sprang upward and for a split second was weightless. Bringing his arms forward, he allowed gravity to catch him, pulling him with dizzying speed over the edge of the falls until he split the chilly water below with a slight splash.

  He came to the surface and began treading water, still tingling with the thrill of the flight. As he reached out again to the sphere, the complete desolation of its inhabitants threatened to pull him under the surface.

  A single thought kept him floating. It wasn’t the connection he had been hoping for, nor was it particularly enthusiastic. But it felt like curiosity—an entirely new sensation after days spent in similar exercises.

  It passed so quickly, Lasren almost hesitated to believe he had felt it at all. Pushing all thoughts of failure aside, he began again at the head of the trail, running along with all the speed his little legs could muster.

  • • •

  Seven stood placidly at the astrometrics station. By her calculations, Voyager would arrive at the next gas giant in less than six minutes. She had already filed away the sensor logs of their previous investigations. While she waited, she called up the long-range scans that had caused her to include this particular gas giant among the list of potential planets of origin for the “mother” of the Children of the Storm. Of the five, its atmospheric balance, unusual size, and age had made it promising, but the age of the system’s star had concerned her. She could not conceive of a life span beyond a few thousand years for the Children, and given that this would have been the blink of an eye in the life of the star in question, it had been practically as near death then as it was now and unlikely to have been capable of providing the necessary radiant energy to sustain any life-forms in the system.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her. Turning, she saw Counselor Cambridge enter and walk toward her with long, loping strides that, like everything else about him right now, annoyed her intently.

  “How goes the hunt?” he asked cheerily.

  “Our efforts until now have been unsuccessful,” she reported evenly.

  Cambridge crossed his arms and leaned against the station, his back to the huge wall upon which the scans were displayed and easily the most interesting sight in the room at any given time.

  “I know how you feel,” he remarked.

  Seven recognized this as an invitation to inquire further into his current status, but she refused to show the slightest bit of interest.

  “I was wondering,” Cambridge continued as if he hadn’t noticed, “whether or not in all of your travels you ever came across a species known as the Meguti?”

  “I haven’t,” Seven replied.

  “What about the Rurokitan?”

  “No.”

  “The god Hrimshee?”

  “Is there a point to your questions, Counselor?” Seven asked, her perturbation rising.

  Cambridge had the grace to look wounded. “Isn’t there always?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, but right now I haven’t the time to engage in useless speculation or trivial banter,” Seven replied. “The lives of several of our fellow fleet members may very well rest upon our ability to locate the home of the ‘mother’ of the Children of the Storm, and it is a task that requires my full concentration.”

  Cambridge smiled. “Don’t be silly. Right now we’re flying through space at speeds so epic our sensors can barely compensate. You have nothing to concentrate on other than your wounded pride, and that is one of your least glamorous attributes.”

  Seven’s arms dropped to her sides as she turned, open-mouthed, to face Cambridge.

  “Ah, well, now that I have your attention,” he quipped.

  “Remove yourself from this lab immediately,” Seven ordered.

  “It’s a public space, Seven, or have restrictions recently been placed upon it of which I am unaware?”

  Seven turned her flushed face back to the display.

  “Look, amusing as it is to tease you, I’m actually serious about this.”

  “About what?”

  “I am currently seeking connections between dozens of ancient races, many of them believed to have originated in the Delta Quadrant.”

  “Unless one of them is the Children of the Storm, I’m afraid I cannot be of assistance to you,” Seven assured him.

  “All right,” Cambridge said, deflating a little. “I’m sensing reluctance on your part …”

  Seven’s face jerked involuntarily toward Cambridge. “Then I suggest you adjust your sensory perception filters, because they are clearly not functioning optimally.”

  Cambridge’s face broke into a wide smile. “See, that was a little joke. That’s progress, Seven. Well done.”

  Seven’s mouth opened again, but he placed a hand over her lips to halt further speech. The gesture had the simultaneous effects of angering her and moving something much deeper and less well understood.

  “Let me assist you further before you say something you will no doubt someday regret.”

  “If one of us should currently possess regrets …” she began.

  “Uh … no, let me finish.”

  Seven waited in unabated frustration.

  “I’m sorry,” Cambridge finally said.

  “You’re what?”

  Cambridge sighed. “Don’t make
me say it again. You have no idea what the first time cost me.”

  Still flummoxed, Seven grasped for a little dignity.

  “For what exactly are you apologizing?” she finally asked.

  Cambridge’s eyes held hers, and there was no mistaking his sincerity, or the absurd joy he seemed to be taking in the moment.

  “It is my belief that several days ago, when you came to my quarters to reschedule our therapy session, you might have misunderstood my preoccupation and taken it personally.”

  Seven considered his words and said, “I’m still not sure which part of my inability to understand your rude and dismissive behavior you are sorry for.”

  “You’ve got me there,” Cambridge admitted. When Seven continued to allow him to dangle, he made another attempt. “All right, let’s try this. I behaved badly.”

  “You were an ass.”

  “Were?”

  “Are. You are an ass.”

  “I don’t deny it.”

  “Then your apology is meaningless.”

  “Not at all. I am, as you no doubt noticed from the first, unable to take the slightest bit of interest in the common formalities that give polite society its pleasant veneer of cohesion. That is something that I don’t see changing in the near future or, really, ever. What I regret is that you have somehow taken this weakness on my part personally.”

  “I assure you, Counselor,” Seven replied rigidly, “any discomfort I might have experienced at your hands made only a fleeting impression.”

  Cambridge’s eyes informed her that he didn’t believe a word she had just said.

  “So we’re friends again?” he asked lightly.

  A shrill beep from her console alerted Seven to Voyager’s arrival at their destination. She was briefly torn, but duty seemed like a pleasant escape from the frustration of the conversation.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” Cambridge said congenially. Turning to stand beside her and pretending to study the new sensor display, he added, “I can wait.”

  Chakotay stared at the main viewscreen, showing the undulating mass of gases forming the atmosphere of the planet Voyager now orbited. Space was by its nature a cold, inhospitable environment, but usually when gazing upon interstellar bodies there was something intriguing or at least uplifting in the possibility of discovery. It was difficult to understand why the tempestuous mass below made Chakotay feel so utterly empty.