Star Trek: Voyager: Children of the Storm

by Kirsten Beyer

  Once they reached the edge of the plain, O’Donnell dropped to his knees and pulled out a small spade. Fife stood over him until O’Donnell said, “It occurs to me, Atlee, that you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

  Fife did him the courtesy of not trying to sugarcoat the situation. “I tried to turn the rest of the crew against you, and my actions almost led to your death,” he said simply.

  O’Donnell looked up—no easy feat in his bulky helmet—and replied, “You’re probably not the first man who doubted me or my efforts, and you likely won’t be the last.” When Fife said nothing further, O’Donnell handed him the spade and said, “Make this hole a little bigger for me.”

  Fife knelt and did as ordered as O’Donnell retrieved a small specimen container from his sack and gently removed the new plant from its first home.

  “This is a simple Crateva religiosa, or ‘temple plant,’” O’Donnell informed him as he placed the small plant in the ground and scooped the loose soil around it. “Of course, it’s been altered for the soil and climate, but I think it will do quite nicely here.”

  “What is its purpose?” Fife asked.

  “It’s an ornamental. It doesn’t have a purpose other than to be beautiful. In a few months a truly lovely white flower with dozens of delicate white tendrils will bloom. The center of the flower is a pale violet. These were my wife, Alana’s, favorites.”

  “Were?” Fife asked.

  “She died many years ago, after a miscarriage.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Fife said softly, and O’Donnell actually believed he meant it.

  “Thank you,” O’Donnell replied.

  Once their task was complete, O’Donnell looked directly at Fife and said, “Do you wish to continue serving as my first officer aboard Demeter?”

  “I can’t believe you’d even consider it,” Fife said.

  “Are you planning to lead any more mutinies?”

  Fife shook his head. “I never really wanted to instigate the first one, but I did not believe you were as concerned with freeing our people as I was, and I honestly thought once Voyager arrived that I had no choice but to try and effect our escape.”

  “I believe you, which is why I’m still content to have you by my side.”

  “I wouldn’t do the same in your place.”

  “But if I let you go now, that would be all but admitting that I made a mistake, and you can’t imagine how that would bother me. Once I’ve made a choice, I can be pretty stubborn about it. And I know now that we have that much in common.”

  “What choice do you mean?” Fife ventured.

  “Who do you think requested you for this mission?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Admiral Batiste.”

  O’Donnell chuckled. “Batiste gave me a list of ten candidates. You were my choice.”

  Fife seemed genuinely surprised. “May I ask why?”

  “You have skills, Atlee. What you need is time and experience to understand where and how best to apply them. You also have courage and strength. It takes something pretty rare to even contemplate what you did. The thing is, the organization you’ve come up in has been faced with one catastrophic war after another. I’m not surprised by your instincts, but you need to understand that there’s much more to Starfleet than battle and enemies, and once you’ve learned that, I don’t think anything will stop you. The only question now is, can I trust you?”

  “I could never trust someone who had done what I did,” Fife replied honestly.

  “People get to make mistakes, Atlee. Do you know what yours was?”

  Fife merely shook his head, clearly at a loss.

  “You should have told me what you were planning. I wouldn’t have agreed with it except as an absolute last resort and, despite your impatience, we weren’t there yet. I probably would have ordered you to wait and see what came of my experiment before taking any action, even if the whole fleet had shown up. But I wouldn’t have disregarded your opinion. Maybe that wasn’t clear from our last conversation on the subject, and that’s my fault. I do know, however, that given our relative skill sets, I don’t have the luxury of not listening to you.”

  “I guess neither do I,” Fife allowed. “I mean, look at this planet. I would never have believed any of this was possible, given where our relationship with this species began.”

  “Maybe I’ve seen too many miracles in my life,” O’Donnell replied. “Or maybe I’m just too stubborn to ever accept defeat. I have this terrible determination to bend the universe to my will. Only once has it ever disappointed me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Captain,” Fife replied.

  “Then let’s get back to work, shall we?”

  The two men rose and began to walk slowly back across the plain. Neither of them noticed a small sphere descending to examine the new plant, or the dozens of beautiful white flowers that burst into bloom long before they should have.

  U.S.S. VOYAGER

  Chakotay felt the same overwhelming sadness he’d associated with his first sight of the Children’s “mother” the moment Voyager settled into orbit around her. Despite the incredible success of the last few weeks and the accord that had been reached with one of the most alien species he had ever encountered, the gloomy tempests and slices of red lightning tearing through the atmosphere of the creature below were visceral reminders that sometimes pain cuts so deeply that certain wounds can never heal.

  However, he also knew that it was testament to how much the Children had learned that they were now willing to try and ease the suffering of the creature that had given rise to them. It was also a great honor that they had asked Voyager and Demeter to make this journey with them and witness their efforts.

  “We have achieved orbit,” Lasren reported from ops.

  It was good to have him back at his post. Something in his experiences with the Children had given the young man a new sense of calm surety. Chakotay planned to speak with Eden in the coming days about granting him a field promotion to lieutenant. He had more than earned it in what was now almost three years aboard Voyager.

  “I still can’t get used to it,” Gwyn said from the helm.

  “What’s that?” Chakotay asked. As there was nothing for his people to do now but watch and wait, he didn’t see any harm in her spontaneous exclamation.

  “Seeing all the white lights,” Gwyn replied.

  Chakotay understood her to mean the computer’s display of the various resonance frequencies within the spheres. When their work had first begun, all of the spheres they encountered were filled with varying hues—reds, oranges, blues, and violets—and those colors had been used to identify the positions of the various individuals as well as the likely thoughts from which they had originated. Once O’Donnell had begun to seed them, however, vivid shades of green had been discovered, and many of those had transformed over time into yellows and pure whites.

  “We’ve given them new things to think about,” Lasren said.

  “Do you really think they’ll be able to do the same for her?” Gwyn asked, turning to face him.

  “I do,” Lasren said, smiling gently.

  “There they go,” Tom said, and everyone turned back to the viewscreen to watch as dozens of spheres descended into the creature’s atmosphere.

  Eden, Seven, and Patel were watching the spectacle from astrometrics and were conducting deep sensor scans of the Children’s progress. For his part, Chakotay preferred to see what would happen without technology’s help. Even if his eyes couldn’t detect any change, he knew Lasren—and possibly Gwyn, given her closeness to many of the Children who had spoken through her in the last weeks—might know well before anyone else whether or not the Children had succeeded.

  “Are you getting anything, Ensign Lasren?” Chakotay asked while keeping his eyes glued ahead.

  “They’re excited, sir. Maybe even a little nervous.”

  “They have every right to be,” Tom replied. “Who knows what she’ll make of them.”
/>   “She should be proud,” Chakotay offered. “I just hope it’s not too late for her.”

  A sharp gasp turned Chakotay’s head toward ops. Lasren stood still, though his face had flushed and he began to breathe more quickly.

  “Are you all right, Ensign?” Chakotay asked.

  After a moment, Lasren composed himself and a huge smile spread across his face.

  Chakotay looked back to the viewscreen as dozens of flashes of white light tore across the surface of the atmosphere below. Seconds later, countless small white particles burst upward, filling the space around the creature in a heart-stopping spectacle of pure delight. In the past, the birth of new Children had been sporadic and tentative. Now, hundreds spewed forth from every area of the mother’s atmosphere, shining sparks whose nature was all too easy to understand.

  “She knows,” Lasren said simply.

  Finally the oppressive gloom that had weighed so heavily upon Chakotay began to recede. As the viewscreen was lit by continuous explosions of white light, Chakotay was able to share in the mother’s complete, unadulterated joy.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  STARDATE 58505.1

  U.S.S. QUIRINAL

  Phinn entered Quirinal’s sickbay, as he had every morning since the crash, fully expecting to spend a few quiet moments with the unconscious form of his captain before beginning his duties for the day. The first thing he noticed was that the main bay was unusually quiet and empty for this time of morning. The second, infinitely more disturbing thing was that the bed and private room Captain Farkas had occupied for the last month was empty.

  All of the blood left his head and his hands and legs began to shake uncontrollably.

  She’s dead, he thought.

  She’s dead.

  Over and over the words raced through his mind, but they could not find a space to rest, let alone sink in.

  A flurry of light laughter came from a room a few doors down, striking Phinn more forcefully than a slap across the face. He could not imagine how it was possible that anyone in the vicinity of what was obviously a great tragedy could be remotely happy right now, let alone find anything to laugh at.

  A medic named Kogdon hurried out of one of the private exam rooms down the hall, and offered him a wide smile the moment she saw him.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked.

  “Isn’t what wonderful?” Phinn replied, miffed at her lack of decorum.

  “Captain Farkas,” Kogdon replied. “She’s awake. Go on back and poke your head in. She’s already asked to see you. Doctor Sal told her you’d be along any minute now like always.”

  It was interesting that hearing this amazingly good news had the same physical effect on him as his recent certainty that the captain was dead. Willing his trembling legs to continue to hold him upright, he walked to the end of the hall and, grasping the door frame for support, turned the corner into the room and saw Captain Farkas sitting up on an exam table, surrounded by Doctor Sal and two of her assistants. All of them were chatting breezily, though Phinn noted that Sal’s eyes were glistening. He assumed her tears were of joy. He was certain the ones escaping his eyes now were.

  “Lieutenant!” Captain Farkas said, a huge smile erupting on her face the moment she saw him.

  “I just heard, Captain,” Phinn said, hurriedly composing himself and wiping his nose. “I’m so glad to see you awake.”

  “It’s good to be among the living again,” Farkas said, nodding.

  After a moment, Phinn started to retreat to allow the doctor to finish her work, but Farkas waved him forward and, turning to Sal, said, “Can I have the room for a moment, please?”

  “Of course, Captain,” Sal said, ushering the nurses out before her and giving Phinn a quick wink as she brushed past him.

  As soon as they were alone, Captain Farkas said, “Do you have a report for me?”

  “Of course,” Phinn said, grateful to have a topic to discuss. “We’ve been working with Commander Drafar and Commander Torres for the last two weeks, and the repairs to Quirinal are on schedule. This morning we’ll be activating the antigrav lifts and Achilles’ tractor beam to haul the ship upright for the next series of repairs on the hull. Seventy percent of our internal systems have been fully restored. Decks one through fifteen are almost ready to house crewmen again, but we’re waiting until the external work has been completed before we start adding unnecessary weight to the ship. I’m sure there’s more, but those are the high points, anyway,” he finished.

  “Excellent,” Farkas said, obviously pleased. “I’ve already spoken with Psilakis and Roach, and they have both informed me that you have gone well above and beyond your normal duties.”

  “Well, since I was the one who brought Quirinal down on this planet, I sort of feel responsible for making sure she gets fixed.”

  “You saved all of us, Lieutenant,” Farkas corrected him.

  “I … well … uh …” Phinn stammered, finding it difficult to accept the compliment.

  “I have something for you,” Farkas said with a slight conspiratorial smile.

  Phinn’s brows dropped in consternation until she reached to a small table beside the biobed and retrieved his chronometer. She extended her hand for him to take it, and he quickly obliged.

  “Thank you, Captain,” he said, wishing he had a pocket in which to stow it.

  “No, thank you, Bryce,” Farkas said. “I would have died without it. And while I can’t officially condone its existence, I’m thinking you should keep it on you, if only to make sure you get to your new post every morning on time from now on.”

  “Of course, Captain,” Phinn replied before her words had really sunk in.

  “My new post?” he asked.

  “Lieutenant Ganley has been transferred to Galen. His injuries were more severe than mine, given the amount of time he was exposed to the toxins in the air. Both Doctor Sal and Galen’s CMO have decided to keep him there until he can be returned to the Alpha Quadrant for an extensive period of recuperation.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Phinn said honestly.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Farkas assured him. “But in his absence, Quirinal requires a new chief engineer. As of today I am granting you a field promotion to full lieutenant, and I am assigning you to his post. Congratulations, Lieutenant Bryce,” she finished, extending her hand for him to shake it.

  Phinn did so, his face flushing again. “I’m not sure I deserve it, Captain,” he admitted.

  “I am,” Farkas said sincerely. “Now get back to work. I expect to see my ship spaceworthy again inside the next two weeks.”

  “I won’t let you down, Captain,” Phinn said.

  “I know,” she replied.

  U.S.S. GALEN

  Shortly after Voyager arrived in orbit, Chakotay granted Tom a few minutes to board Galen and see for himself that B’Elanna and Miral were well before beginning his regular duties for the day. Tom half expected to find them waiting for him in the transporter room, but he was met instead by the Doctor.

  “Hey, Doc,” Tom greeted him cheerily. “How’s everything been going?”

  “Terrible,” the Doctor confided grimly, giving Tom’s stomach a turn. In truth he was surprised. His communications with B’Elanna since Voyager had bidden farewell to the Children of the Storm had given no indication that anything was wrong. Tom had thought he and B’Elanna were past keeping important secrets, but then again, nowadays that was hard to know for sure.

  “I left them finishing breakfast because I wanted to speak to you alone for a few moments,” the Doctor went on as they directed their steps toward his quarters.

  “What is it?” Tom demanded, growing more concerned by the second.

  “You must speak to B’Elanna about Miral’s studies,” the Doctor said firmly.

  “Her studies?” Tom asked, wondering if he had heard right.

  “Yes.” The Doctor nodded. “I have prepared a rigorous curriculum for Miral, as well as a host of hologra
phic instructors perfectly suited to each subject, but in your absence, B’Elanna has insisted on allowing Miral to spend most of her time playing away the day aboard Achilles rather than devoting herself to more suitable work.”

  Tom paused his steps. “Hang on a second,” he said. “We are talking about the equivalent of preschool, right?”

  “The lessons I have prepared are perfectly age-appropriate,” the Doctor huffed, “and will stand her in far better stead than pretending to be a small grease monkey all day.”

  Tom bit back a smile.

  “You must speak to your wife,” the Doctor insisted. “Miral’s future hangs in the balance.”

  Tom patted the Doctor gently on the shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can,” he replied as seriously as he could.

  “Thank you,” the Doctor said. “I’ll leave you to it,” he added ominously as they reached the door to his quarters.

  Tom entered to find Miral seated on a brightly colored mat, pulling on the tail of what he hoped was a holographic kitten.

  “Daddy!” she shouted the moment she saw him. Instantly she released the kitten, which vanished, and rushed to his arms, practically knocking him over.

  “Hey, sweetie,” he said, gathering her up into a hug as B’Elanna hurried in from her sleeping quarters to join them.

  He then shared a wordless but deeply satisfying hug with B’Elanna before releasing the last of his misgivings about their well-being.

  “We have to run,” B’Elanna said with obvious regret, “but there’s some toast left if you’re hungry.”

  “What’s the rush?” Tom asked.

  “Big day.” B’Elanna smiled. “We’re lifting Quirinal off the surface, and only half a million things could go wrong.”

  “So, will Miral stay here for the day?” Tom ventured, not at all sure how to address the Doctor’s concerns.