Star Trek - Voy - Mosaic

by Mosaic

  Trakis caught one glimpse of Nimmet's fevered eyes, which fastened on his in a mixture of pain and rage, and then the entire room began shimmering before his eyes. He blacked out momentarily and then, miraculously, he was standing on a small stage in a room he had never seen before, staring at a uniformed Federation. His head swam dizzyingly as the man approached him, took his arm, and said, "The captain wants to see you on the bridge." They swept out of the room, entered a conveyer of some kind, and minutes later Trakis stumbled onto a bridge that appeared to be in chaos. A malodorous coolant gas was venting from a conduit; an alarm was sounding continuously, and in one corner a wounded crewman was being tended to. The ship continued to reverberate as it was pounded by Kazon weapons, and Trakis wondered briefly if he would be any better off on this ship than he had with the Kazon. His mouth was dry and his legs trembling, but he didn't know if that was a result of the strange, disembodied journey he'd made from the Kazon ship to this one, his near-death at the hands of Nimmet, or of his quite natural reluctance to die on an alien ship surrounded by strangers.

  A small, trim woman approached him, and he realized this must be the fabled captain of the Federation ship.

  "It's not as bad as it looks," she reassured him. "Our shields are holding."

  He circled immediately to her, his mission clear. He had to convince her to depart immediately. "There's no need for you to endure this, Captain. If you leave this area of space, the Kazon won't pursue you."

  "I can't leave. I have crew who are trapped on the planet."

  "The Kazon will never let you get near the surface. They think you want the Tokath, and they'll keep you away at all costs."

  "The Tokath?" Janeway began, but then the ship took a comterrific jolt and everyone, including Trakis, went tumbling. Trakis cracked his elbow painfully on a nearby console, and he yelped, rubbing it to reduce the lancing pain that now consumed his arm.

  "I can explain everything-but it would be easier if we were in circumstances where we could remain upright. Please-all you have to do is leave, and we'll all be safe."

  Suddenly, to Trakis' amazement, the woman captain grabbed his jacket and steered him firmly into one of two chairs at the center of the bridge. She leaned in close to him; her eyes were a penetrating blue-gray, and her voice had a timbre that resonated like a cymbal. "I told you I'm not leaving my crew. Now you tell me what you know about all this, so I can figure out what to do." She turned to the others. "Mr. Paris, continue evasive maneuvers. Rollins, fire at your discretion." Then she turned back to Trakis, who was frankly more unnerved by her than by the Kazon attack. "Most people thought it was apocryphal," he began urgently, for he believed that the faster he could tell his story, the faster they could get away from this ominous planet and the pounding of the Kazon. "But it's true-the Tokath are real. I've examined one myself, and it's everything the myth suggests."

  Another hit rattled them and Trakis looked around in some desperation; the bridge was venting more coolant gas and several consoles had exploded. He turned back to the captain, whose eyes had never left him, and the tempo of his recitative increased. "The Tokath are what we call a parasectoid species, hard-shelled creatures lacking intelligence-but which are vicious and deadly. They'd adapted to survive in almost any habitat-air, water, even space. They were an almost ideal defense force, and they kept this planet safe from all invaders for centuries." A series of hits knocked them about again and the captain glanced over at one of her crew. "Shields at eightyseven percent, Captain, and holding. I'm betting they'll get tired of this before we do," he said, and Trakis marveled at his buoyant confidence. He realized that the attitude on this combat bridge was different from any he'd ever witnessed. The Kazon were veritable wild men when in combat, shouting loudly in what Trakis felt was an effort to shore up their courage; the Trabe were usually nervously desperate, the result of years of running from the Kazon. Never had he seen behavior in battle that was so composed, so professional. The woman turned back to him, and there was no doubt he was to continue, and quickly. "The planet was also inhabited by a humanoid species, the Krett, who possessed the power of flight-a wise, gentle people who communi- cated telepathically, and who had a genuine affection for their unusual protectors. That's why they went to such extraordinary lengths to save them."

  She looked at him questioningly.

  "A massive plasma eruption burst from the star's equatorial zone thousands of years ago. It created an electrical disturbance in the planet's atmosphere which would eventually kill almost every living thing on the planet-which is the only one in the system that supports life. The Krett were technologically advanced, and had spaceships. They could evacuate, but there was no way to take millions of the Tokath with them. So they transformed the Tokath habitat into hibernation chambers, put them into stasis, and departed-hoping one day to return to their world." He shook his head sadly. "But they learned what a hostile part of space they occupied. Without the protection of the Tokath, they were set upon at every turn. Like us, they were decimated." The woman looked at him intently. "What does all this have to do with us? Why are the Kazon attacking Voyager?"

  "They're fixated with the idea of finding the Tokath and resuscitating them, turning them into a personal fighting force, and thereby dominating the sector. They believe you have the same thing in mind, and they're determined to stop you."

  "How did the Kazon learn all this? How did they know where to look for these creatures?"

  "The Kazon-Vistik stumbled on the truth during one of their nasty little raids on unprotected outposts. They discovered a small Krett colonv which had endured over the centuries-with a few of the Tokath, which they had taken with them, still extant. The Krett, hoping to gain sympathy and be spared, told them the tale of their ancient diaspora, and of their belief that the Tokath might still live. In return, the Kazon slaughtered them all and took the remaining Tokath with them for examination. And managed to kill all of them but one."

  Trakis paused with genuine sorrow. He still regretted his actions on the Kazon ship, and the fact that he, a physician, had caused the creature's death. And all for nothing, all to feed the Kazon obsession. He had to convince this icy captain that the only recourse they had, the only way to prevent more killing, was to retreat. He clutched the arm of the chair as a series of muffled explosions thudded in the distance, and beseeched her once more. "I can lead you to a Trabe planet. You'll be welcome there, to repair your ship and take on stores. Leave the Kazon to their wild dreams; my experience has been that they're so inept they'll never succeed."

  "If the Maje would only answer my hails, I could explain to him that we have no interest in the Tokath. All I want is to get my crew back." Trakis stifled a rise of irritation; this woman showed little understanding of the Kazon. As though Maje Dut would listen reasonably to her statement, accept it at face value, pause in his assault long enough for her to retrieve her crew, and then send them on their way with a wave and a smile. This obstinate insistence on saving part of her crew-perhaps at the expense of all the others, and the ship as well-was evidence of weakness. In some things, the Trabe and the Kazon agreed: women simply weren't suited for positions of leadership. They were too idealistic, too sentimental, too emotional.

  He sighed and began to think of another means of helping her see the error of her ways when two of the crew spoke at once-the pilot and the man standing behind her right side. "Captain, I'm reading something-was "We've got activity from the planet's surface-was

  The captain moved immediately to the pilot's console. "What is it, Mr. Paris?" she asked crisply. The blond young man was working his controls rapidly. "Something rising from the planet-a convoy of ships... no..." He looked up at her, puzzled, and Trakis took the opportunity to move closer to them.

  The man from the rear station called out now. "Captain, I have organic readings. There's a mass of life signsmillions of them-ascending through the ionosphere."

  "On screen," said the captain, and Trakis looked up at what was revea
led there. At the same time, he realized that they were no longer taking hits from weapons; apparently the Kazon were as curious about what was happening as the crew of this ship. And when the screen before them revealed a view of the planet below, he understood fully. What he saw there made his legs suddenly lose stability and his stomach sour.

  A brown miasma, vast and inexorable, was rising into space from the surface of the planet. Trakis rubbed a damp palm on his pants and turned to the captain, who was staring in puzzlement at the screen. "Captain," he said, trying to keep his voice from quavering, "those are the Tokath."

  CHAPTER 22

  "A REVIEW BOARD IS STANDARD PROCEDURE, KATHRYN. ALL captains go through the process after their first mission, and frequently after that. Don't worry about it." Admiral Paris' blue-gray eyes crinkled as he smiled at her.

  Kathryn sat opposite him in his office-the very office she'd waited in when she first met him over ten years ago. Now, she'd just returned from a six-month mission into the Beta Quadrant; she'd collected some valuable scientific data on microsecond pulsars, and she was annoyed that her trip home-where Mark was waiting-was being delayed for a routine and, in her mind, wholly unnecessary procedure.

  "I'm not worried about it-that's the point. There's nothing to worry about; the mission was a complete success, nothing was amiss, and I don't see why everyone's time has to be wasted with this superfluous review."

  "You're proving to be an excellent captain. I'm more proud of you than I can say. But you may need to pay some attention to one of the finer details of command: an abiding patience for Starfleet rules and regulations. You'll have to set the standard on your ships, Kathryn. It won't do to have a captain who plays fast and loose with the rules."

  She drew a deep breath. He was right, of course. She was just so eager to see Mark, and Phoebe, and her mother. But two days more wasn't the end of the world, and she'd have a full month to spend with them before catching another assignment. "You're right, sir. Thanks for the reminder." He started to reply but suddenly the door to his office opened and his aide, the dignified Mrs. Klenman, now a full captain, walked in, her face reflecting alarm. "Excuse me, Admiral," she said quickly, "but I think you should get over to the Academy right away."

  Kathryn saw Admiral Paris's face go ashen. His son Tom was now a senior at the Academy. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

  "There's been an accident. Commander Lewis wouldn't give me any details-but I know he was concerned."

  Kathryn saw the naked fear that only a parent can know take its hold on Admiral Paris. He glanced at his console, considering sending a transmission to the Academy, but then shook that off, preferring to go in person. "Let the commander know I'm on my way."

  "Sir, do you want me to come with you?" Kathryn felt she should at least offer support.

  "No. Thank you. I'll see you at the review board tomorrow." And he was gone, fear propelling him. Kathryn had the sudden insight that she was glad she had no children, and wasn't hostage to the powerful concerns of parenthood; it was more vulnerability than she felt she could tolerate. She turned to Commander Klenman.

  "Will you let me know what's happened? I'll be at the Officers' Quarters tonight."

  "Of course, Captain." Klenman was clearly worried, too. She'd spent more than ten years with Admiral Paris, and was devoted to him and his family. Kathryn left the office with a heavy heart.

  The news that evening was tragic, but it was to spare the Paris family for now. Tom had been leading a fighter squadron in maneuvers; one of the cadets had made a miscalculation, which led to an error, which led to an accident, and two of the vessels collided, killing the pilots. Tom had risked his ship to prevent the mishap, but to no avail. Admiral Paris was pale and grave the next day when she entered the conference room where the review was to be held. She went immediately to him. "I'm so sorry about the accident, sir," she said. "It must have been hard on Tom."

  Paris nodded. "It's always difficult to lose people under your command-I'm afraid you'll find that out eventually-but it's one of the risks. Tom did his best, but sometimes these things happen. He'll have to work through it, but in the long run it will toughen him."

  Kathryn nodded and then turned to stand at attention as two other admirals entered. She was pleased to see that one was Admiral Finnegan, whom she'd met so long ago on her first trip to Mars, and with whom she'd had dinner the night before her father and Justin were killed. "Good to see you, Captain Janeway," said Finnegan. "Of course you know Admiral Paris, and this is Admiral Necheyev."

  Kathryn nodded to a trim, blond woman with sharp features and piercing eyes. The woman exuded authority without effort, a fact Kathryn found herself admiring; she wondered if she projected that same easy confidence, and feared she didn't. On this, her first command, she'd often felt she had to work at being authoritative.

  "We're just waiting for the tactical officer," continued Finnegan. He was going over some last-minute figures." This remark puzzled Kathryn. Last-minute figures? Regarding tactical operations? Why would there be any issue with that part of the mission?

  As her mind raced with these questions, the door opened and a man walked in. He was a dark Vulcan, and didn't appear to be a young person; yet he held the rank of ensign. Admiral Finnegan turned to him genially. "Captain Janeway, may I present Ensign Tuvok."

  Kathryn extended her hand and felt it taken firmly by the Vulcan. His eyes were dark, and seemed to Kathryn to be opaque: they were not a window to his soul so much as a barrier to it. He was erect and formal, his voice a deep and fulsome baritone. "Captain," he acknowledged simply, then set a stack of padds on the table.

  Admiral Finnegan called the review to order, made a few complimentary remarks about Kathryn, then turned to Tuvok. "The bulk of the review involves Mr. Tuvok's area of expertise, so I'll turn the proceedings over to him." Kathryn was puzzled-what was going on here? Tuvok began to speak, and in a few minutes her cheeks were flaming and her heart thudding in her chest: she was furious. She worked to control her temper as the Vulcan's rich voice droned on and on. "dis.. and tactical logs indicate that there were no test firings, no battle drills, and only two weapons reviews during the mission. All told, there are exactly forty-three violations of tactical procedures, ranging from the minor to those I would consider significant."

  With that pronouncement he set down his last padd and folded his hands in front of him, solemnly regarding her. A deep hush had fallen on the room, and Kathryn realized she was going to have to defend herself. Admiral Finnegan turned to her, and though his voice was quiet, it held no hint of pliability. "You may feel free to answer the charges, Captain." Kathryn took a moment to compose herself, then stood. "Sir, I was raised in the traditions of Starfleet. I learned the precepts of this organization at an early age; I admire and honor them." She paused, looking from one to the other, but studiously ignoring Tuvok the Vulcan. "It has always been clear to me that Starfleet is first and foremost an institution which is dedicated to exploration and investigation. Its primary responsibilities are the acquisition of knowledge, the seeking out of new worlds, and the establishment of cordial relations with other species.

  "Those tasks represent the mandate we have created-a mandate which is both positive and powerful." She looked directly at Admiral Finnegan. "This is not, strictly speaking, a military organization. It functions as such only when there is a need for self-defense. The military aspects of Starfleet-its command structure and nomenclature, for example-are in place primarily as a framework within which its members can function according to clearly established guidelines."

  Now she turned directly to Tuvok, looked him square in those shielded eyes of his, and drilled into him. "Tactical functions, weapons checks, battle drills-those are activities I consider low-priority. As long as I am assured that we are at the ready in case of attack, I see no need to spend large amounts of time drilling the crew in the mechanics of war. I am satisfied that the weapons systems and the crew were ready for any eventuality, and as suc
h, that I fulfilled the tactical requirements adequately."

  She and the Vulcan held a look for a long, quiet beat, and then she turned to Admiral Finnegan. His face was devoid of expression. He turned to Tuvok. "Any comment, Ensign?" he asked mildly.

  Now Tuvok stood, but Kathryn didn't sit back down. They faced each other at opposite ends of a table, like combatants squaring off in a gladiatorial ring. Kathryn's heart was still hammering, but Tuvok was utterly composed. He might as well have been ordering dinner. She'd never understood Vulcans, never comprehended their icy reserve, never really trusted the capacities of those who eschewed emotion. Her humiliating tennis defeat years ago at the hands of Shalarik suddenly enveloped her, reopening old wounds. She was gripped with the determination that she mustn't fail this time; this Vulcan could not best her.

  "The captain's idealism is admirable, of course," he intoned. "However, that very structure of which she speaks is an absolutely essential component of a smoothly functioning organization. Regulations do not exist in a vacuum; they are in place for specific and legitimate purposes. Starfleet Command has set the rules and I am certain they did not do so frivolously. We must assume that regulations are established for the most definitive of reasons."