Star Trek: Voyager - 043 - Acts of Contrition

by Kirsten Beyer

  “Every culture that willingly seeks out new ones must grapple with this issue,” Janeway said kindly. “You found one solution. My people found another.”

  “I wonder what other solutions your Federation has devised that so clearly show the limits of our creativity,” Cin said. “It would never have occurred to me that such a thing would be possible.”

  “In the days and weeks to come, we will both learn about each other. We will both have the opportunity to expand our understanding. That is the great gift peace brings among people.”

  The display had ended with blinding explosions of light below, and the protector began to descend again to the rooftop. As it did, Cin watched as Janeway refastened her combadge, a mixture of sadness and shock still plain on her face. Finally she asked, “Is this technology something you would consider sharing with us?”

  “It is,” Janeway replied. “But before you decide to embrace it, you must consider how it would change the lives of your citizens. Is it something you genuinely require? Or does your current communication system work well enough and better reflect the needs of your Confederacy? Speaking the same language can create a sense of cohesion among your people, a unique identity they may cherish. A universal translator might rob them of that.”

  “But it also limits our ability to speak directly with those who have no interest in joining our Confederacy,” Cin noted. “You are right, of course. It is a complicated decision. A more limited initial application might be more appropriate than widespread dissemination.”

  “I am sure that will be true of many things we are about to learn of one another,” Janeway said.

  Finally their feet again touched solid ground and Janeway struggled for a moment with a brief bout of dizziness. Cin took her arm, a gesture of genuine concern. “Are you well, Admiral?”

  “Yes,” Janeway assured her. “I’m simply not accustomed to your method of transport.”

  “Perhaps something we might share with you,” Cin said, clearly jockeying for a way to resume surer footing with her guest.

  Janeway smiled but said nothing. Chakotay’s first instinct when encountering the Confederacy had been to hide their transporter capabilities. The admiral would have made the same call and was pleased he had taken this precaution. If the universal translator had so impressed Cin, Federation transport capabilities were going to look like magic, and she had no desire to overwhelm her hosts. She made a mental note to continue this restriction, among others, as she climbed the steps back up to the platform and took her seat beside Cin for dinner.

  As the demonstration below ended and the sound of a few clapping hands was overwhelmed by the odd, shattering sound of Confederacy applause, Captain Chakotay felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. Turning, he saw a familiar alien face.

  “General Mattings,” Chakotay said, smiling widely. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “I lost you in the crowd as soon as the spectacle started. For a few minutes there, I thought I was going to have to send out a search party if I wanted to speak with you before the feast.”

  “What’s on your mind, General?” Chakotay asked as they both began to make their way slowly back to the platform and their assigned seats at different tables.

  Mattings was the first Confederacy officer Chakotay had met when Voyager encountered the Worlds of the First Quadrant. Though predisposed otherwise, he found himself genuinely liking the Leodt, in no small part because his ship, the Twelfth Lamont, and its accompanying fleet had saved Voyager from certain destruction at the hands of a hostile alien force. The general’s ancestors had been responsible for one of the most egregious ethical lapses Chakotay had ever witnessed, the use of the wave forms they called “protectors” to destroy several terrestrial planets. The captain had chosen to meet Mattings and his people on their own terms and give them an opportunity to demonstrate who they had become, hundreds of years later.

  Chakotay and Mattings had spent several pleasant hours together on the Twelfth Lamont. It was an unusually informal first-contact situation. Although Chakotay had withheld information about his ship and its capabilities of necessity, he had formed a positive initial impression of Mattings and looked forward to seeing how their relationship progressed.

  “Come now, Captain. You’re an educated man, as am I,” the general said. “Did you really think you’d be able to keep your secret from me for long?”

  The list of secrets Chakotay had kept from Mattings was too extensive to risk guessing. Immediately, Chakotay raised his game face, along with his personal shields.

  “Your fleet began scanning our vessels the moment we made contact,” Chakotay said. “You monitored all of our ship-to-ship communications while we were within range of the Confederacy. I told you then that we had nothing to hide.”

  “Voyager left Confederacy space under the power of a propulsion system my best engineers tell me is a theoretical impossibility, Captain,” Mattings said more seriously. “You told me you didn’t need to use the Gateway to regroup with the rest of your fleet on the other side. I figured at maximum warp you were looking at a journey of several weeks at least. Just how far away was that fleet?”

  “Far,” Chakotay said. “But we did leave your territory at maximum warp. I can’t imagine that our warp capabilities outpace yours.”

  “We utilize the streams for most of our travels of any considerable distance. The Great River makes our Confederacy feel smaller than it actually is. But my people tell me your ship can likely achieve speeds that surpass entering the flow.”

  “Upon what do they base this assessment?” Chakotay asked.

  The general’s face hardened visibly. “We followed you as far as we could, Captain. Just watching your back, of course.”

  Chakotay had not engaged Voyager’s slipstream drive until they were well clear of what he understood to be the outermost limits of Confederacy space. Voyager, Vesta, and Galen had rendezvoused at a similar distance before reentering the Confederacy’s territory at high warp. He had believed the general would recon their departure. Starfleet would likely have done the same were their positions reversed. But sensors hadn’t detected any contacts for several hours before Chakotay had brought the slipstream drive online.

  “From hidden vessels?” Chakotay asked. He feigned insult at the apparent betrayal.

  “We use the protectors for many things beyond transportation and reinforcing the streams, Captain. They can hide our ships when we need them to,” Mattings admitted. “So,” he went on, “now that my slip’s showing, perhaps you’d consider raising your skirt a bit? It embarrasses a man when his advances aren’t reciprocated.”

  Chakotay knew he had to tread carefully. The information the general was requesting was classified and would remain so until Admiral Janeway determined otherwise. But it would also be unwise to crush the fragile trust that existed between the two men, or their respective peoples.

  “Your reliance on the streams has likely made it unnecessary for the Confederacy to develop propulsion systems that surpass warp capabilities,” Chakotay said. “My people haven’t had that luxury. As I told you when we met, Voyager’s first trip to the Delta Quadrant—”

  “The First Quadrant,” Mattings interjected, obviously teasing.

  “Or the First Quadrant,” Chakotay said, smiling, “was at the hands of an alien species that brought us here using technology we had never seen. The ship was pulled seventy thousand light-years in a matter of minutes.”

  “So you reverse-engineered that tech?” Mattings asked.

  “We never had the chance,” Chakotay replied. “It was destroyed before we could scratch the surface. But with so far to travel if we ever wanted to see our homes again, enhancing our propulsion capabilities became a priority. We came across lots of promising possibilities. One of them was seized on by Starfleet once we made contact with them again, but before we were home, and it has been installed on an experimental basis on the few ships we have that are meant to travel great distances.”
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  “Congratulations, Captain,” Mattings said. “You do vague like few men I’ve had the pleasure to meet.”

  “Many of our technological capabilities have been developed of necessity, General,” Chakotay said. “Once formal negotiations begin between our diplomats, Admiral Janeway will make the determination as to which ones are most appropriate to consider sharing. I’m not at liberty to tell you more, but should the time come that I am in a position to do so, I will gladly show you what you want to see.”

  “Fair enough,” Mattings replied. “I didn’t honestly expect you’d hand over the specs, but it was worth a shot.”

  “We’re at the beginning of what I hope will be a long road, General. There’s no reason to rush things now.”

  “As you say,” Mattings agreed. “But I do have another proposal for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “As soon as this ceremony is over, our delegation is going to submit a list of joint ventures between our people to hurry along the ‘getting-to-know-you’ portion of our negotiations. I’ve already asked that Voyager accompany the Lamont to one of our centers of technological development. It’s a trip of a couple of days, but if you’re willing, I’d be interested in exchanging a few officers for the duration. We’ll show you how we work, and you could return the favor.”

  Starfleet rarely agreed to such exchanges, and almost never with species as relatively unknown as those of the Confederacy. But Chakotay could not deny the value of an opportunity for intelligence gathering that Mattings was suggesting. Still, his gut told him it was much too soon to consider such a thing.

  “As you know, Voyager took quite a beating when we engaged the forces at the Gateway. We’ve managed to make some repairs since then, but we have many more to make before I’d be ready to show her off, General,” Chakotay said. “I really do want you to see her at her best. Of course, if you’re willing to permit me to send one of my officers to the Lamont, I wouldn’t hesitate to agree.”

  Mattings’s eyes narrowed but his smile remained in place. At least Chakotay hoped that the protrusion of sharp teeth characteristic of the Leodts was a smile. He’d been reading it as such thus far. “I guess it’s a start, Captain,” Mattings agreed.

  “Great.”

  “Reports indicate that those bastards who attacked you are re-forming at the Gateway,” Mattings went on. “They’ve always come. But lately there are more and more.”

  “What do they want?” Chakotay asked.

  “The Gateway, of course.”

  “But they must know that the majority of your forces are on this side of it,” Chakotay said. “Even if they successfully breached it, they wouldn’t get farther than the outskirts of this system, would they?”

  “It would depend on their tactics,” Mattings said. “I’d like to think not, but you never know. It worries me, Captain. Our way of life has come under attack before, and we survived. We built something from its ashes of which all of us are rightly proud. I just wonder when it ends. When will they leave us in peace?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, General . . .” Chakotay began.

  “You’d be leading this fleet?”

  “I’d retire,” Chakotay replied.

  Lieutenant Harry Kim was enjoying his dinner. There were dozens of options when it came to the food. He’d sampled three different appetizers before the first of four entrees was served. Most of the fare was more generously seasoned than he was accustomed to, but with the exception of a particularly bitter root that overwhelmed what seemed to be some sort of soup, everything he tasted was edible, if not delicious.

  The food was improved tremendously by the company. To his left was a garrulous young Leodt whose father was a member of the Market Consortium and who apparently intended his son to follow in his footsteps. His name was Shrell, and he seemed inordinately amused by everything Kim said. He might have just been being polite, but Kim didn’t think so. Shrell seemed truly happy with his lot in life, and Kim paused to reflect on how rare that had been among many of his friends in recent years.

  To the lieutenant’s right, a woman old enough to be his grandmother but who looked like his youngest cousin—had that cousin possessed the golden skin and striking scales of a Djinari—soon eclipsed Shrell as a conversationalist. Ligah was vague about her occupation, assuming she even had one, but she had captured Kim’s attention by discussing openly her faith in the Source.

  “Would you define the Source as that which created the streams of the Great River?” Kim asked.

  Ligah’s smile held trace amounts of condescension, but she replied congenially. “It is more than that. It is the river. It has carried us through trials and tragedies. It is the lifeblood of our Confederacy. It revealed itself to us at our moment of greatest need, and because we were wise enough to accept it, the Source has rewarded us with several generations of peace and prosperity.”

  “Has anyone ever seen it?” Kim asked.

  “Are all of your people so literal?” Ligah asked. “Anyone who has traveled through the streams has known the Source.”

  Kim had traveled through several types of subspace corridors in his years of service without any such revelation.

  “I’m curious about the wave forms, what you call the ‘protectors,’ some of which are contained in those streams,” Kim admitted. “You use them to maintain the stability of the streams. Without them the streams would collapse. But they were created beyond the streams, were they not?”

  “They are, but by their nature they are of the Source,” Ligah replied. “There is harmony between the streams and the protectors. They need each other.”

  “Has that always been the case?” Kim asked.

  “Yes,” Ligah replied, unfazed. “Without the protectors, the streams become difficult to travel. The Source created them to make continuous use possible, among other things.”

  Kim had assumed that the technology that created the protectors was of alien origin. Whether or not the Djinari or Leodt had created them remained an open question. That they used them was undeniable. But how had they been folded into the religious mythology of the Confederacy?

  “Are there consequences for displeasing the Source?” Kim asked.

  Before Ligah could respond, the face of another Djinari thrust itself between them.

  “Federation representative,” the man began, “have you truly come to the Confederacy seeking peace, or are you here to conquer?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Kim said. “Who are you?”

  “Leave our guest alone,” Ligah said, warning clear in her tone. She placed protective arms around Kim, one over his shoulder and the other resting on his chest. “The press has been allowed limited access to this ceremony. You are meant to wait in the designated area for official statements.”

  “Our citizens have a right to know whom the presider has invited to our space,” the man insisted defiantly.

  Ligah rose. “Please excuse me, Lieutenant Kim. I must contact security to see that this man is expelled from the gathering. Permit me to apologize for his rudeness.”

  Kim had only a second to look down as Ligah released him and began to shoo away the intruder. Kim quickly came to his feet and placed one hand around Ligah’s nearest wrist.

  “Why don’t you allow me to escort him to security,” Kim said.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ligah assured him.

  “I’m afraid I must insist,” Kim said.

  Ligah’s eyes met the man’s, and unmistakable frustration passed between them.

  “Very well,” Ligah said. “You will find several security officers positioned at the rear of the platform.” She raised her free hand to point them out, but Kim held on to the other tightly.

  “Lieutenant Kim,” Ligah said, the condescension back in full force. “Please release my hand.”

  “I’ll be happy to, just as soon as you return my combadge to me.”

  Frustration turned to anger.

  “Your what?” she demanded.


  “The small metallic object that was affixed to my uniform until a few seconds ago,” Kim replied.

  Shrell had observed the exchange, and he chuckled into his napkin. Ligah favored him with a withering glare.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Ligah insisted gamely.

  “Then allow me,” Kim said. Gently he pried her fingers open, and as he did so, the unmistakable sound of metal hitting a solid surface met his ears.

  Kim bent automatically to retrieve his combadge from the spot where Ligah had just dropped it. By the time he had raised himself upright again, she had vanished into the crowd, along with her compatriot.

  “Damn,” Kim said, resuming his seat.

  “You’re security on your ship, aren’t you?” Shrell asked.

  “I am.” Kim nodded.

  “She should have known better,” Shrell observed.

  “Who was she?” Kim asked.

  Shrell shrugged. “Who knows? But she sure read you wrong.”

  “I get that a lot,” Kim said.

  “It’s your face,” Shrell said. “Too soft. Too squishy.”

  “What did she want with my combadge?” Kim wondered aloud.

  “Same thing everybody wants,” Shrell replied. “Any advantage it might have given her.”

  Kim didn’t touch another thing that was served to him, nor did he manage to find Ligah again in the crowd as the evening continued.

  B’Elanna Torres needed to excuse herself after the third appetizer course had been served to relieve her bladder, one of pregnancy’s many nuisances. Lieutenant Lasren, Voyager’s ops officer who was also seated at her table, had seemed contemplative when the meal began, but after only a few courses he had a decidedly nauseated look on his face. Perhaps dinner was disagreeing with him. Torres had made polite conversation with her nearer companions, a science officer with the Confederacy Fleet and an administrator on the presider’s staff. The administrator, a Leodt female, was kind enough to quietly direct her toward the facilities when she rose.