“I’m honored,” Janeway assured him as she turned to offer her hand to Cin. “It is a pleasure, Presider Cin, to welcome you aboard the Vesta.”
“Please forgive the disturbance my presence has created,” Cin said. “I did not have time to advise the first consul of my desire to join him this morning.”
The look on Dreeg’s face suggested that he knew this was a falsehood, but he did not dare accuse his presider of it publicly. Instead he simply said, “We exist to serve your needs, Presider. Your presence is never a disturbance.”
“I wonder if you would introduce us to the rest of your party, First Consul,” Janeway requested. “I’m sure you remember our Captain Farkas, Counselor Cambridge, and my aide, Decan.”
“I do,” Dreeg said. “This is my secretary, Yent; Consuls Elvoy, Raniet, and Mistoff of the Consortium; Overseer Peene, a civilian starship expert; and Grish,” he finished, nodding toward the only member of the party who was not Djinari or Leodt, the man in gray.
“Who does Mister Grish represent?” Janeway asked.
“He is my personal translator,” Dreeg replied. “In the event your translation system fails, I wanted to make sure our communication did not.”
“A most thoughtful precaution,” Janeway said. “Welcome, one and all. You are standing in the Vesta’s auxiliary shuttlebay. With your permission, I’d like to escort you now to our first stop on the tour, the Vesta’s mess hall. We’ve prepared refreshments for you and invite you to partake before we begin the tour. I warn you in advance, we’ll be doing a lot of walking today.”
“That sounds wonderful, Admiral,” Cin said.
The group fell into two lines, Cin walking by Janeway’s side. Dreeg walked beside Farkas and began peppering her with questions the moment they entered the hall outside the bay. The presider seemed content to simply walk in silence, taking in everything around her.
Over “brunch” Janeway introduced their guests to the ship’s replicators. She had decided in advance that this would be the first of two sensitive technological miracles she would show the representatives, though in describing them, she limited her explanation of their uses to those they could see: food and other basic essentials, like clothing.
Presider Cin clapped her hands in delight when a cup of hot tea was replicated for her. “It is like magic,” she said, sipping the tea and judging it delicious. “Is all of your food prepared in this manner?”
“Most of it,” Janeway said, “although the Demeter also grows many edible fruits, vegetables, and grains for the fleet’s crew to enjoy from time to time.”
“Officers that serve our interstellar fleet enjoy the freshest food and produce our planets can provide,” Dreeg noted. “Their needs are met before a mouth on any of our planets is filled. Our ships are also stocked with supplement packs and dried foods that can provide emergency sustenance as needed.”
“We have those too.” Janeway smiled. “We call them rations, but in our case, none of our crew members look forward to eating them.”
“With these replicators at your disposal, I’m surprised they would have to,” Cin said.
“As with everything aboard our ships, they require energy. If our energy supplies are unexpectedly diminished, we do without them,” Janeway said.
“You mean during battle?” Dreeg asked pointedly.
“Among other things,” Janeway replied.
As the group moved through the arboretum and the main medical bay, the admiral provided them with a brief history of the founding of the Federation and a description of some of the larger and longest-standing member worlds.
“Have your people ever encountered the Borg?” Cin asked, as the group moved toward holodeck one, where Janeway had requested a program re-creating the main chamber of the Federation Council to be run.
“We have,” Janeway replied. “Our first contact with them was made by the Federation’s flagship more than fifteen years ago.”
“How fortunate for you, that you have only had to reckon with them for such a brief period of time,” Dreeg said.
“When I led the Starship Voyager on our long journey home through this quadrant, we encountered them several times.”
“It is amazing to me that you survived those encounters, Admiral,” Cin said.
“It is a testament to your people’s fortitude and resourcefulness that you were able to save your civilizations in spite of their aggression,” Janeway said, hoping to drop the subject. It was far too soon in their relationship for her to consider sharing the truth of the Borg Invasion of the Alpha Quadrant, or the actions of the Caeliar in ending the Borg’s reign of terror.
Their entrance into the holodeck was met with several gasps from the Confederacy guests. The Federation Council chamber appeared to be larger than the shuttlebay.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Janeway said. “This room is called a holodeck. Its actual size conforms to that of the other rooms on this deck. However, our holographic technology makes it appear to be larger. Holographic emitters create everything you are seeing. This is one of thousands of potential locations our holodecks can re-create. They are used primarily to enhance the variety of the crew’s recreational activities during long missions.”
Dreeg moved to the podium at the head of the chamber, from which the president usually addressed the council, and rapped his fingers on the wooden surface. “But this is solid,” he said.
“A convincing illusion,” Janeway said. “This is a representation of our main Federation Council chamber. Every seat in this room is filled by the duly elected or appointed representatives from every Federation member world and our allies. This is where our government does their work.”
“It is beautiful,” Cin said. “How often does your president consult with this Council?”
“Most days,” Janeway replied. “There are smaller committees that tend to specific issues, but legislative sessions run consistently with short breaks for our representatives to return to their own worlds, as is required by the Federation Charter.”
“And this Federation has only existed for a little over two hundred years?” Dreeg asked.
“Yes,” Janeway said, nodding. “But we hope to one day claim to have thrived as long as your Confederacy.”
“You will,” Cin assured her.
“Your ship must have a centralized operations facility,” Dreeg said.
“Our bridge, yes,” Janeway said.
“We would very much like to see it,” Dreeg said.
“Very much,” Cin echoed.
“Of course,” Janeway said. She had expected the request and was already prepared to make this visit a brief one.
The moment the turbolift doors to the bridge slid open, Janeway felt movement behind her as the Confederacy representatives strained to see past her and Presider Cin. As Janeway had ordered, there was a sense of controlled chaos under way. Although each post was manned as required, several crewmen moved about inspecting open panels and apparently in the thick of making numerous repairs.
Janeway turned to Captain Farkas as if this were an unexpected sight and said, “Captain?”
“A moment, please, Admiral,” Farkas said, slipping past her and moving to Commander Roach, who stood beside the center seat. “Commander Roach, report,” Farkas said sternly.
“I apologize, Presider Cin,” Janeway said. “I thought our senior staff would be prepared to receive you, but obviously . . .” she trailed off.
By then Farkas had returned to the turbolift. She whispered a few words in Janeway’s ear, and with a theatrical sigh, Janeway said, “The Vesta was upgraded and refitted just before we journeyed to the Confederacy. It seems a number of systems require attention now. It would not be safe to tour the bridge at this time, but I would be happy to reschedule this portion of your visit as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Cin said. To see the Federation crew in such a state obviously pleased her and restored some of her pride in her own people, who clearly would never have
presented such a spectacle of disarray to guests.
“I appreciate your understanding,” Janeway said as the turbolift doors slid shut. The moment they had, Janeway knew that the additional crew would collect their things and return to their normal duty posts. The Vesta was functioning just fine, but this little ruse made it possible for her to limit the Confederacy’s exposure to critical systems.
“Our next stop will be on deck three,” Janeway said, finally escorting them out of the cramped space. “These are our standard crew quarters.”
As Janeway turned to open the door to an unassigned room, she noted Lieutenants Psilakis and Lasren approaching from the opposite side of the hallway. Between them walked Mister Grish.
“Lieutenant Psilakis?” Janeway asked, as Mister Grish rejoined the larger group.
“We found him wandering around on deck sixteen,” Psilakis said.
“My apologies, First Consul,” Grish said. “When the group left the holodeck, I remained behind just for a moment. I was marveling at plaques posted at each seat, indicating the names of the member worlds assigned to them. By the time I emerged, the group was no longer in sight.”
“I’m glad our security team found you, Mister Grish,” Janeway said amiably. “It’s a big ship. You’re not the only one ever to lose their way while aboard her.”
Cin appeared equal parts mortified and angry. “It will not happen again,” she offered apologetically.
“Of course not,” Dreeg said. Janeway’s eyes met those of the first consul. Apparently she wasn’t the only one engaging in polite deception.
Chapter Eight
STARFLEET MEDICAL, SAN FRANCISCO
“Miss Seven, how good to see you,” Doctor Sharak said the moment she appeared on the viewscreen before him. She looked well rested, but there was concern in her eyes.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “How is your research progressing?”
“Very well,” Sharak replied. He took it as a sign of her continued good health that she bothered to inquire at all. “If my calculations are correct, we might see an end to this plague sooner than expected.”
Seven cocked her head to one side, an old tic Sharak rarely witnessed. “Explain.”
“For now, my studies have been limited to Coridan, specifically the capital city and its surrounding environs. The early infection patterns were what you would expect from an aggressive airborne agent. Proximity to known victims was the clearest indicator of potential infection, and as there were many large public gatherings in the immediate aftermath of the attack on the planet, the spread went unchecked. Quarantine procedures were not put into effect for almost two weeks. The bulk of the casualties came from this period. Following the quarantine, the spread of the illness was immediately reduced. It was several weeks before large numbers of new cases were detected. But even now, new cases are found daily. However, the positive sign is that they arrive in groups of no more than ten to fifty at a time.”
“Then you believe the quarantine is proving effective?” Seven asked.
“It clearly is,” Sharak replied. “Our quest now is to determine where these new cases are coming from. It is difficult to trace the activities of every individual who has been exposed, but most of them are too far removed from the red zone to have contracted it there.”
“Coridan remains an important center of mining operations for the Federation,” Seven noted. “The constant traffic over the planet’s surface and beyond must limit the quarantine’s effectiveness.”
“It does,” Sharak agreed. “However, the restrictions put in place by the Federation Institute of Health are arduous. I believe their quick work has done much to protect the public’s health.”
Seven nodded in response.
“And how is your friend Axum?” Sharak asked.
“He is well,” Seven said. “His recovery has been astonishing. More work will be required on everyone’s part to better understand how the catoms we were given by the Caeliar have restored him.”
Sharak paused. “Surely that is not your focus at this time?” he asked. “It was my understanding that you would be working directly with the Commander’s team to better understand the nature of the plague.”
“The Commander’s team works diligently toward that end,” Seven said. “The samples I was able to provide have aided them in their efforts. For now, the majority of my time has been spent with Axum.” After a long pause she added, “I do not see it as effort wasted.”
“I did not mean to imply otherwise, Miss Seven,” Sharak said kindly. “Do you have any idea how soon you might be able to leave the restricted area? Cadet Icheb made contact with me and is anxious to speak with you.”
“Icheb?” Seven asked.
“Yes,” Sharak replied, determined not to reveal over an open channel Admiral Janeway’s efforts in securing the cadet’s current assignment in the event Miss Seven was unaware of it.
“It may be some time until I am able to contact him,” Seven said.
“I understand,” Sharak said. “I will advise him accordingly.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
With that, she signed off.
It was clear to the doctor that Seven was still choosing her words carefully during their communications. This was difficult to understand given that everyone working in both the restricted and open labs dedicated to the plague was striving for the same goals. Perhaps her concerns were directly connected to Axum and she was reluctant to share more personal matters over an unsecured channel. Sharak did not doubt that, eventually, he would learn more.
Until then, Lemross. His burden heavy.
Returning to Axum’s private lab, Seven studied the results of the latest test programs she had created. She agreed with Axum that, for the time being, the only progress she could make would be in further developing her understanding of catoms. As long as the Commander refused to see her, there was little she could do to address the virus directly. But when that time came, she intended to be able to provide essential data that would prove his error in keeping her secluded from the rest of his team.
She wished that the Commander’s unwillingness to have her as a contributing member of his team had come as a surprise. Given the Doctor’s experience with Doctors Mai, Frist, and Everett, it was not completely unexpected. They believed that they already had the finest minds in Federation medical science addressing the issue. It was true that medicine was not Seven’s area of expertise, but the fact remained that she was Borg and retained the collective brilliance of billions of minds. She was also living daily with Caeliar catoms in her body and had discovered many unexpected uses for them. All of this, the Commander must know. He had accessed all of the Doctor’s records of her before she had even arrived. What he clearly did not know was that, given enough data, most subjects of inquiry put before Seven, regardless of her prior exposure to them, were quickly added to the long list of items she had mastered.
He underestimated her. That might result in the unnecessary prolonging of this plague. But until she was given a chance to prove her abilities, Seven was not going to change his mind.
However, her usefulness as a provider of unique catomic material to his efforts had granted her access to Axum. And for that she was grateful.
The specific task upon which she was presently focused was to move beyond the catomic molecules she could now visualize and attempt to unlock the programming that defined them. This was not a simple task. But it was a mathematical one, which meant that, however obscure, the answer existed somewhere within the organization and actions of the catoms themselves. It would not elude her.
Unfortunately, the models she had already created showed multiple errors.
“You don’t understand.”
Seven’s heart quickened. The voice was Axum’s. She had expressly forbidden him from speaking again into her mind.
“That is not possible.”
Seven took a deep breath and shook her head. He had not betrayed her trust. He was in his own
room, and the doors between it and the shared living space and the lab were all open.
But to whom was he speaking?
Seven moved silently to the lab’s entrance and peeked into the common room. Urgent whispers came clearly through the door to Axum’s room but he had lowered his voice, possibly intentionally.
“I will,” she heard distinctly.
The sounds of movement met her ears; the soft fabric of his pants and tunic brushing metal as he rose from a chair that had its own particular squeak, followed by gentle footfalls.
A sudden, unfamiliar anxiety washed over her. She began to retreat back into the lab but stopped herself. Axum’s mental health was as important to her as his physical health. He had yet to share with her his experiences following the destruction of Unimatrix Zero or the personal hell the Borg queen had created for him prior to the Caeliar transformation. She knew the broad strokes from the Doctor’s reports. As she was withholding significant personal information from Axum, however, she could not fault him for not opening up to her.
Still, she would not hide her concerns.
He stepped into the common room, obviously in the process of relaxing his face into the composed lines Seven was growing accustomed to seeing.
He doesn’t want me to see his pain, she realized.
She moved toward him. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Axum nodded.
“I heard your voice. To whom were you speaking?”
A wince confirmed her suspicions, but she still wanted to hear it from him.
“I spent many solitary months on the shuttle that eventually brought me to Starbase 185,” he said. “I’m afraid I picked up some lonely habits.”
Seven nodded. “I understand. It was incredibly difficult for me to adjust when I was first severed from the Collective. And I did so under the patient care of Voyager’s crew.”
“I was not that lucky,” Axum said.
Tell me, she wanted to say.
Star Trek: Voyager - 043 - Acts of Contrition Page 13