by Mosaic
She nodded. "He said he assumes the time has come, he's gratified for the help of whoever has come into the chamber, and hopes that some of his kind is left to witness the reawakening of the Tokath."
"I detected energy readings emanating from this chamber," added Harry. "It's possible that when we entered, we triggered a mechanism which set some kind of program in motion. It got really hot in here about half an hour agothat might have been evidence of the metamorphosis you mentioned."
"It was as if the walls were melting," said Neelix, in support of this theory.
"The Tokath," said Tuvok solemnly. "That must be the name of the alien species contained within the walls."
"In some kind of stasis?" wondered Harry.
"It would appear so. But for what reason, and in what way, and by whom-those are unanswered questions."
"You said they were a nemesis. What made you call them that?" asked Kes. Greta Kale answered, indicating the torn sleeves of her uniform. "They were grabbing at us, clawing us as they began to emerge from the walls. If they hadn't still been stuck in that gelatinous mess, they could've ripped us apart."
"There was one more thing the hologram said." Kes looked around the group, as though uncertain whether to purvey this part of the message. "It said that if there were none of their kind to watch over the Tokath, then whoever had come into the chamber should stay here. It would be the only place that was safe."
And hearing that portentous statement, the group surveyed the now crowded room with apprehensive eyes.
When the ground began to fall, Jal Sittik felt a momentary consternation. were the Federations mounting some kind of offensive? Had they formulated a plan to take him by surprise? But the anxiety quickly changed to a premonition of triumph: the Federations had simply been flushed from their lair by the incessant pounding from his weapons. Now it was just a matter of picking them off as they emerged.
"Stand ready!" he called to his men, who were already poised, weapons lifted, anticipating the battle. The ground, he realized, was sinking in a circular pattern, in four triangular wedges that eventually formed ramps, up which, Sittik presumed, the Federations would rush in their desperate and headlong dash for freedom.
The four wedges settled onto the floor of the underground cavern, and Sittik tensed, waiting for the war whoop he presumed would announce the charge of the doomed Federations.
But there was only silence. Puffs of dust rose from the wedges of earth and suffused the stifling air of the planet. Sittik was aware once more of the annoying insects, who had suddenly swarmed around them again, nipping and stinging in a frenzy. Did they sense the impending battle? were they trying to become part of it? Sittik had a sense that all the forces of nature were joining him in this epic encounter.
Where then, were the Federations? Did they think he was so stupid that he would have his men venture down into what could only be a trap? He shook his head in disbelief, savoring the quiver of the ornaments in his hair. "Come out, Federations," he bellowed confidently. "If you surrender your death will be swift and painless." He listened carefully, but there was no answering call, and he began to grow impatient. His moment of glory was being postponed by these stubborn foes. He nodded toward his men to fire into the pit, and the air was laced with the sound of their weapons. After a few minutes, he gave the signal to cease. Dust now rose in heavy clouds from the pit, and Sittik waved the acrid mist from his face, peering downward to see what effect the weapons burst had had. He thought he detected, through the dust, a bit of movement at the bottom of the pit. It had worked! They were coming forth to assure his triumph. Tonight he would sit at the Maje's right hand... would watch Kosla parade before him, hoping for his notice... would feel the supple curves of her flesh beneath his lips.
Now there was definitely a figure coming from the pit. Rising from it. Rising?
Confusion clawed at Sittik's mind. There was something perplexing about the situation. Granted, it was difficult to see clearly through the cloud of dust raised by their weapons, but the figure he saw didn't seem to be climbing the ramps-as he would have thought the Federations must-but was rather ascending through the air. Had they developed a new technology which allowed them to fly like insects? He had never heard any intelligence which suggested the interlopers had such an ability. And yet, here they were (for there were now more of them visible in the dust cloud), most definitely rising from the pit, closer and closer, a growing band of them hovering, inspecting the assembled Kazon troops in silent assessment.
It was not the Federations.
The beings that hovered before them were huge brown parasectoids nearly half a meter long, with fierce-looking mandibles and an elongated snout that contained a large, powerful jaw with sharp, wicked teeth. Their underbellies were a mottled green, and they were coated in a coagulated substance that dripped from them like thick jelly. He realized they must be the Tokath, but was unsure as to the significance of their appearance. Had the Federations found these beings and made use of them as an advance unit? were they intended as a diversion, allowing the Federations to escape? Or was this Miskk's doing, his vengeance? Sittik didn't know the answers to these questions, but he was certain their departure from the pit did not bode well. And as if they read his mind, the creatures began a disturbing sound, somewhere between a click and a squeal. He made an automatic response.
"Fire," he ordered his men, and they immediately unleashed their weapons on the creatures.
Under the withering barrage, the creatures began to emit a high-pitched shriek that assaulted the eardrums like a knife point. As they tumbled back into the pit, dead or mortally wounded, a wretched odor began to emanate from them, fouling the air even further.
But to Sittik's dismay, more and more of them began to appear, rising from the dust-occluded pit which was now becoming a graveyard, chittering in that unnerving wail that chilled his blood and rent his ears. Where were they all coming from? How could there be so many? The Kazon soldiers kept up a relentless fusillade, but no matter how many of the hard-shelled bodies tumbled, dying, into the pit, even more took their place, pulsing upward on the thick clouds of dust and smoke. Sittik found himself coughing uncontrollably as his lungs tried to reject the thick particulates they were being forced to ingest. The Tokath were coursing upward, spilling out of the pit now, too many for even the weapons of his men to dispatch. He stared in amazement as they kept coming, dozens of them, wings pulsing, pushing them beyond the bounds of the depression in the ground.
Something wet hit his face and he daubed at it, then screamed as it began eating into the skin of his cheek and his hand. Frantically, he pawed at the awful substance, which was quickly making a paste of his skin; the more he tried to wipe it off, the deeper he gouged it in. He sank to his knees, desperate with pain, trying to make a poultice of dirt, smearing it into the wound but quickly realizing nothing helped.
Another glob of the stuff hit him in the forehead, and the process was begun again. Around him, he was vaguely aware of his men in the same circumstances, and he realized that these hideous creatures were emitting the noxious liquid, spraying it from their underbellies, reducing his proud squad to a wailing, helpless mass, squirming on the ground and begging the gods to put an end to their misery.
That prayer, at least, would be answered, though not quickly. Sittik looked up to see one of the creatures flying at him, awful mandibles extended, then felt them drill into his abdomen and clutch his intestines. The agony redoubled as the creature tore his entrails from his body, then seized them in its powerful jaws and began eating them.
A blood-red cloud descended over Sittik's vision; in it Kosla briefly danced as he realized he would not be spending the night with her, or with anyone ever again, and yet it didn't matter because oblivion was all he craved now and it couldn't come quickly enough.
Trakis the physician worked the console quickly, nervous that someone might enter unexpectedly and discover him. He wasn't entirely familiar with the communications technology o
n the Kazon ship-in their ineptitude, the Vistik had cobbled together two separate systems that weren't completely compatible, probably because they were incapable of repairing either one. He was working through the circuitry carefully, trying to find a frequency upon which he could piggyback a message, but the process was tedious and frustrating.
The body of the captive lay on the examination table, dissected now as a result of his necropsy. Trakis had found nothing remarkable during the procedure; in spite of the Kazon belief that these creatures might be harnessed in some way to act as a fighting force, the physician could find no evidence that the Tokath possessed a large enough brain to be intelligent. As he suspected, they functioned purely on instinct-and as such, were an unruly and potentially dangerous ally. It would be like trying to train a pack of feral dogs.
Trakis finally found a frequency that looked promising, a low-energy subspace band almost indistinguishable from the ship's warp-core emissions, and he began a carefully modulated series of hails. It would require some luck, to be sure, but his chances of getting off this ship alive had just risen dramatically.
"Captain, we're being hailed." Rollins looked down at her in some puzzlement, and Janeway turned to him.
"By whom?"
"I'm not sure. It's coming from the Kazon ship, but the message is being piggybacked on a very low frequency subspace carrier wave. I don't know why the Kazon would go to that trouble."
"On screen." She looked up and saw a staticky image fill the screen; she couldn't see the figure well and couldn't understand him because of a noisy interference.
"Attempting to clear the transmission," said Rollins, and within seconds the sound had cleared significantly though the image had improved only slightly.
"dis.. attempting to contact the Federations on their ship. Is anyone receiving this message? I am Trakis, a Trabe physician taken prisoner by the Kazon. Repeat, I am attempting to contact the Federations-was "This is Captain Janeway of Voyager. We are receiving you."
The figure on the screen seemed to slump in relief. "Captain... I'm glad to hear from you. I'm asking for asylum-the Vistik have no further use for me and I suspect they'll terminate me soon. Can you use your technology which transports individuals to bring me onto your ship?"
Janeway's mind raced, assessing risk factors. "Our transporters only function within a distance of forty thousand kilometers. We'd have to put ourselves in weapons range of the Kazon-and at the moment our phaser arrays are offline. What's more, we'd have to drop shields to bring you on board." The figure leaned toward the screen. She still couldn't see him well through the interference, but she recognized the desperate tone in his voice. "I have information which will be of value to you-the reason the Kazon are so interested in this planet, and why they are trying to destroy you."
"Dr. Trakis, you don't have to be valuable to us in order for us to assist you. If we can help, we will."
"Thank you, Captain. I am in a small laboratory on the starboard side of the ship, near the ventral airlocks."
"Remain at your station until you hear from us."
Trakis acknowledged, and the transmission ceased. Janeway pondered the implications of this conversation. It could be a Kazon trick, of course. That was probably the more likely explanation. And yet, there was something genuine in the fear Trakis had projected, and it was true that a Trabe was never safe at the hands of the Kazon.
She was intrigued by his promise of information. Did he know something that would help her retrieve her crew? It was a tantalizing prospect. But before she could reflect further, she was interrupted. "Engineering to the bridge."
"Janeway here."
"Captain, we've got the phasers back."
"Good work, B'Elanna. What was it?"
"A microfracture in the PDM crystal. So small it was virtually undetectable-we had to infer it from the prefire chamber response. But we're back on-line now."
Janeway's mind raced. Now they could face the Kazon as equals-even superiors. They must act quickly, while the Kazon still thought they were disadvantaged. She turned to Chakotay.
"Battle stations, Commander. Rollins, divert all auxiliary power to the shields. Mr. Paris, take us out of the nebula and in range of the Kazon ship."
The sleek ship hove to and began to move out of the nebula. Janeway felt her pulse quicken as she anticipated the encounter with the Kazon, hopeful they might be willing to talk once they realized Voyager was back at full strength.
"Mister Rollins, prepare to hail the Kazon ship as soon as we've cleared the nebula and are within range."
"Aye, Captain. I've got them on sensors now. Hailing on all channels." A minute passed, then another. Finally Rollins stated the obvious: "They're not answering, Captain." Then Chakotay reacted to something on the center console. "They're powering weapons."
"Ready evasive maneuver chi-eight, Mr. Paris. We're going to have to pull a few tricks to get that Trabe doctor off the ship."
But before she could indicate what those tricks might be, the ship was rocked violently by a huge weapons blast. But this time Voyager was ready, and though they were knocked around, no serious damage was done. "Return fire, Rollins. Target their weapons arrays and propulsion systems."
"Aye, Captain, firing."
Beams of phaser fire leapt across space toward the Kazon ship, but hit only a glancing blow; the Kazon pilot was also flying evasive maneuvers. Fire was returned, and the two ships kept this barrage up for several minutes, Voyager all the while working its way closer to the Kazon vessel.
"Captain, the shields are starting to degrade. The closer we get to their ship, the more impact their weapons have," observed Chakotay. "I know. We just have to hold out a few minutes more. Mr. Paris, I want you to take us directly underneath the Kazon ship. It's going to be a little tougher for it to fire at us in that position. Just snuggle up to its belly like a baby kitten trying to nurse."
Tom Paris smiled at the image and entered the commands. Janeway saw the underbelly of the Kazon ship looming ahead of them, trying to buck and roll away from them, but Tom's skillful piloting kept Voyager all but glued to them.
"Mr. Rollins, when I give the order, drop shields and simultaneously initiate transport of the Trabe life sign near the starboard ventral airlocks."
"I'm locked on, Captain," replied Rollins smoothly. "Do it," snapped Janeway, and at the same moment the shields dropped, a huge blast from the Kazon hit Voyager's dorsal plane. The hull buckled, causing instant depressurization until the automatic forcefield activated, but in that moment havoc was wreaked. Conduits exploded and consoles threw sparks. Emergency circuits frantically rerouted power to critical systems-but the transport had already been initiated.
Trakis had been pacing nervously in the laboratory, jarred by the weapons blasts from the Federation ship, and wondering if the female captain would be able to bring him aboard. How that would be possible in the midst of a pitched battle he had no idea, and he had begun to resign himself to staying with the Kazon. As he was trying to figure out how to survive the day, Nimmet entered, a smug smile playing on his face. Trakis turned to face him, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Did you think you could outwit us, Trabe?" rasped Nimmet, eyes slitted in that ridiculous guise. "Did you think we were so foolish we wouldn't pick up your transmission to the Federations?"
"What are you talking about, Nimmet? Have you misread the sensing indicators again?"
"Don't bother with this pretense. I know you contacted their ship." Nimmet paused, as though for dramatic effect, and then spoke in a hoarse, affected whisper. "And I have been granted the privilege of ending your pitiful life."
A huge impact blasted the ship and Nimmet momentarily lost his balance. Trakis took advantage of the mishap to put the examination table, still holding the carcass of the dissected creature, between him and Nimmet. But Nimmet was soon on his feet and brandishing an ugly-looking knife as he advanced on Trakis.
"I haven't yet made my report to Maje Dut about the necropsy I
performed," Trakis began urgently. "He'll be most unhappy if you remove the opportunity for him to gain insight into the creature."
"It was Maje Dut who sent me here," replied Nimmet easily. "He no longer has faith in your abilities. You've proven traitorous, so who is to say your information would have any merit?" Nimmet shrugged and moved closer, wielding the vicious knife with intimidating familiarity. "Nimmet, my friend, listen to me-was
"I am not your friend, Trabe. You have treated me like a servant since you came on board. Do you think I don't recognize your condescension? It will be a pleasure to see your life's blood draining away."
Nimmet leapt for himand in one sweeping motion Trakis grabbed the lifeless shell of the dead creature and presented its green underbelly toward Nimmet's slashing blow. The knife laced through the belly and, as Trakis had hoped, directly into the parasectoid's poison sac, Nimmet jerked the knife out and then began to scream, clawing at his hand as the toxic fluid began eating into it.