Star Trek: Voyager: A Pocket Full of Lies Read online

  “You aren’t the only one who has struggled to come to grips with Kathryn’s return. She traveled through more than a few circles of hell on her way back. The rest of us had each made our own peace with her loss. Personally, it was the worst thing I have ever endured. It came very close to breaking me completely. But I can’t see her presence among us now as anything less than a miraculous blessing. What I’m suggesting is that if you are still struggling, it might help to talk with the rest of us. We’re all walking the same strange path, Tuvok, and we’re here for you, if you’ll let us in.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Good night, Tuvok.”

  9

  DEMETER

  During the first several months Lieutenant Commander Atlee Fife had served as Commander Liam O’Donnell’s first officer, he had dreaded moments like this. Fife would arrive to present a report on Demeter’s status. On a good day O’Donnell would ignore him, muttering softly to himself. On a bad day, the commander would take Fife to task for repeatedly ignoring his standing order that unless Fife had appeared to report that something was on fire, O’Donnell was content to allow his first officer to run the ship while he pursued his personal scientific projects.

  Demeter’s was like no command structure with which Fife had become familiar at the Academy or his early Starfleet posts. He had found himself constantly on the defensive. Before long he had decided that O’Donnell had no place aboard a Starfleet vessel, let alone commanding one.

  That had changed the day Atlee Fife had suborned mutiny, killed countless innocent life-forms, and instead of being cashiered out of the service, had received his captain’s forgiveness and commitment to make their unusual command structure work.

  There had been plenty of days since then when Fife had questioned the wisdom of O’Donnell’s choice to give him a second chance. Not a single day passed without Fife doing his damnedest to prove himself worthy of it.

  He found Demeter’s captain in his personal lab completely absorbed, scrutinizing an astrometrics display of Rilnar territory along with the data they had received from the Nihydron on the major Rilnar colonies.

  Fife paused, as was his custom now, to allow O’Donnell whatever time he might require to complete the task at hand prior to requesting his captain’s attention.

  “What have you got, Atlee?” O’Donnell finally asked.

  “The helm is requesting confirmation of our destination, Captain. We are three light-years from Rilquitain. At warp six we could make orbit within the hour.”

  “That’s their largest colony,” O’Donnell noted.

  “Aye, sir, and the location of their capital city. The planet is densely populated with over twelve billion inhabitants and well-defended.”

  “And you think that’s where we should begin?”

  “Given the fact that the Rilnar have accepted Denzit Janeway as commander of their forces on Sormana, it seems likely that they will be receptive to any request we might make of them for information regarding the history of the planet and the conflict,” Fife replied.

  “Possibly,” O’Donnell said.

  “You disagree.” It wasn’t a question. Fife had become accustomed to O’Donnell’s fondness for the Socratic method. “If we announce our presence as representatives of the Federation, we will likely be assigned a diplomatic liaison.”

  “I’m guessing half their diplomatic corps will want to meet other citizens from the Federation that gave them their denzit.”

  “And we don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Not if we want to get the whole story.”

  “Sir?”

  “We already know that there is an ideological division between the Rilnar on Sormana and those in the colonies. According to the Nihydron, the Rilnar and Zahl both developed interstellar travel capabilities around the same time on Sormana, several hundred years ago. The preceding century had been marked by a lengthy and unusual period of relative peace during which their conflict took the form of an old-fashioned space race. Today, the vast majority of the Rilnar were born in the colonies. They might have a passing interest in Sormana, but their attention is directed elsewhere, toward more local concerns and cultural development. What we will learn from the diplomats will be the party line, the official position.”

  “Isn’t that what we are seeking?”

  “It’s not what I’m seeking. Look here,” he said, gesturing to the chart of Rilnar territory displayed on his monitor. “Rilnadaar VI.”

  Fife studied the display and accompanying data. “It’s an agrarian colony, population two hundred thousand.”

  “And it was founded less than a century ago by a group of Sormana’s natives who apparently came to the conclusion that living was more important than being right.”

  “Then you would prefer I lead an away team to Rilnadaar VI?”

  O’Donnell smiled. “No.”

  Fife considered the situation.

  “You would prefer to investigate Rilnadaar VI,” he realized.

  O’Donnell nodded. “One of the few prerogatives afforded me by the technical difference in our positions, Atlee. You get to do the unpleasant work.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You’ll drop me and a small away team off on Rilnadaar VI. We’ll take some of our most recent harvest with us and offer to trade for seed and other foodstuffs. You and the counselor will make best possible speed to Rilquitain and meet with the diplomatic delegation. When you’ve had enough of diplomacy, you’ll come back to the colony and retrieve us. Between the two of us, we’ll get the whole story, not just the official one.”

  “I will order Ensign Falto to alter course. We should arrive at Rilnadaar VI in twelve hours at maximum warp.”

  “Very good, Atlee.”

  Fife departed, hoping it would not take another full year to better anticipate his captain’s thoughts and intentions but satisfied that at least he was making progress.

  VESTA

  The Vesta was equipped with two large astrometrics labs, both similar to the one Seven had created for Voyager. Captain Regina Farkas did not know the former Borg drone well, but it never ceased to amaze her how much this single individual had done to refine and improve upon standard Starfleet equipment. The main lab was currently being used by her best science officers, led by Lieutenant Skaiden, whose team was searching the heavens for any sign of Federation technology that Voyager might have left behind.

  The secondary lab had been commandeered by Lieutenant Bryce. Farkas hadn’t questioned her chief engineer’s request. She had learned to give the young man as much rein as possible. Thus far, he hadn’t disappointed her.

  Skaiden’s team worked with silent intensity. The main lab’s display was filled with a single chart of several sectors between Sormana and Krenim space, and operations experts worked diligently to acquire any faint signal that might indicate a Federation presence.

  Entering Bryce’s lab, Farkas wondered if the chief engineer could possibly be working on the same project. The massive screen had been broken into nine discrete areas, each displaying different spatial grids, none of which were the same areas Skaiden’s team was analyzing. Bright red, orange, green, and gold lines ran throughout each grid, possibly denoting potential flight paths. Nine pairs of engineers worked at separate control stations, each pair engaging in animated conversations and in some cases, arguments.

  Bryce moved among them, followed by a young ensign Farkas recognized immediately as the fleet’s most recent transfer, Icheb.

  “No, no, no,” Bryce’s voice sounded, rising above the din. “Run the simulation to completion. As soon as we can access long-range sensors, we’ll test it, but I don’t want to waste time on incomplete courses.”

  Farkas stood back for a moment, enjoying the chaos. Bryce caught sight of the captain and moved toward her.

  “Captain,” he said.

  “Whatever this is, I’m already intrigued,” Farkas said.

  “It was Icheb’s idea,” Bryce said,
smiling. “Ensign, come here.”

  Icheb hurried to Bryce’s side. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

  “Skaiden tells me you’re threatening to revoke her access to long-range sensors in the next two hours. You know how I feel about my senior officers working and playing well with others, Bryce.”

  “She’s not going to find anything,” Bryce insisted.

  “That’s probably news to her.”

  “It’s not her fault. She’s doing the logical thing. She has limited her search to current Zahl space, assuming that’s where they must have found their evidence of Voyager’s previous journey through their territory,” Bryce explained.

  “I’m having a hard time seeing the flaw in that reasoning,” Farkas admitted.

  “If, as we suspect,” Icheb spoke up, “the evidence in question originated in another timeline, we must consider the possibility that in that timeline, Zahl territory could be configured quite differently.”

  “Never mind the fact that the Zahl have probably already found anything in their space and have it locked down in a lab somewhere. So we’re ignoring the Zahl’s current holdings,” Bryce added.

  “Rather than focus on the Zahl or the Rilnar, we are focusing on Voyager’s previous course through these sectors,” Icheb continued. “The only local species Voyager contacted was the Krenim. According to the logs, it was a brief conversation and after being advised that this area of space was in dispute, Captain Janeway ordered a new course set which avoided it entirely. What we are extrapolating are the most likely courses Voyager would have followed based upon interstellar phenomena rather than political designations, had she chosen to ignore the Krenim’s warning. There are several notable features Captain Janeway might have ordered investigated, including a young binary system and four large nebulae.”

  “Interesting premise,” Farkas agreed. “But aren’t there a lot more possibilities for such a hypothesis than we could realistically consider?”

  “No,” Icheb replied. “In theory, there are infinite variations, but based upon the captain’s standard methodology, these are the most likely courses she would have chosen.”

  “But doesn’t all that go to hell if, as we also suspect, Voyager was repeatedly attacked during that time?”

  “Our simulations include calculations that allow for several battle scenarios, as well as naturally defensible areas,” Bryce replied. “We could still be wrong, but we’re looking at a lot more territory than Skaiden’s team and we’re utilizing different search parameters.”

  “How different?”

  “For any artifact to have survived within multiple timelines it cannot simply exist in a single reality. It is likely lodged in subspace,” Icheb said, “and must contain some rudimentary temporal shielding.”

  “Starfleet doesn’t have temporal shielding,” Farkas noted.

  “The Borg did,” Icheb advised her.

  “And if you and Seven were on board during that so-called Year of Hell, Voyager would have had access to that technology,” Farkas realized.

  “I was not,” Icheb said. “But assuming these events occurred near the time of Voyager’s only contact with the Krenim, Seven was.”

  “Okay,” Farkas said. She had seen enough. “How long until you are ready to test your theory?”

  “Another hour at most,” Bryce replied.

  Farkas shrugged. “I’ll go give Skaiden the bad news.”

  LILLESTAN STATION

  Galen’s chief of security, Lieutenant Ranson Velth, was uncomfortable with the amount of attention his team was attracting. It was understandable. His and Seven’s were the only human faces to be seen on the small spaceport, and Seven’s striking physical beauty was noteworthy. The pair received several long, questioning glances as they moved through the wide halls leading from the docking ports to a central business arena that included various shops and dining establishments.

  The station was heavily trafficked by numerous alien species Velth could not name. A few, he could, including several Rilnar and Zahl. While those he saw seemed to give one another a wide berth, Velth noted that there were no direct confrontations between them.

  Commander Glenn had been advised when she requested clearance to dock that Lillestan was considered neutral territory and serviced a diverse range of local species. No weapons were permitted on the station and the proprietors requested only that their patrons leave any disputes between species at the airlock. That the Rilnar and Zahl were honoring that custom confirmed that the conflict on Sormana did not extend beyond the surface of the planet, and that most likely, consequences for disturbing the peace on Lillestan were severe.

  This small backwater station was an ideal destination for those who wished to engage in personal business and recreation beyond the bounds of their particular governments, which meant it could be an excellent source of intelligence on a wide range of topics. It was also likely the epicenter for a thriving illegal trade in illicit, banned, or rare commodities.

  Velth and his officers would spend the next several days here attempting to blend in and glean what they could from talkative patrons. Seven’s intentions were different. Despite the courtesy their perimeter defense ships had extended to Captain Chakotay, Commander Glenn believed that a direct contact with Zahl leadership would be too risky for her small ship and crew. From Lillestan, it should be easy enough to secure passage aboard a private transport to one of several large Zahl colonies. Seven and the Doctor would travel as anonymously as possible, research the conflict on Sormana from the Zahl’s perspective, and hopefully return to Lillestan leaving the Zahl none the wiser.

  The center of the port contained a large display listing the variety of services that were publically available. Seven discreetly scanned the map with her tricorder, which translated the alien script. After a few moments, she turned her head toward a darkened doorway barely noticeable between two brightly lit establishments; one offered a wide variety of clothing, the other was some sort of restaurant where patrons sat on tall stools imbibing colorful beverages and small living animals served to them in delicate, edible cages.

  “This way,” Seven directed him, obviously having chosen their course without the need for input from him.

  “Where are we going?” Velth asked.

  “To secure passage aboard a ship.”

  “There is a public transportation platform on the third level of the arena. Why not seek passage there?”

  “Because anyone availing themselves of public resources here will be questioned and their destination will be noted for the station’s logs,” Seven said.

  “We’re not doing anything illegal. Why shouldn’t we submit ourselves to a little scrutiny?”

  “Because Captain Glenn would prefer that the Zahl government remains ignorant of our intentions at this time.”

  “Hundreds of people pass through this station daily,” Velth argued. “Our presence isn’t likely to be noted.”

  “You’re willing to risk that, given the Zahl’s attack on Voyager that resulted in the denzit’s capture and torture?” Seven asked.

  Velth paused. He had been ordered to accompany Seven aboard the station for her protection but not to interfere with her choices. She held no rank, so it wasn’t a question of following orders. It was just Velth doing what he always did: analyzing everyone’s decisions in light of how likely they were to get someone killed.

  “What are we going to find behind that door?” he finally asked.

  “Jewl, I presume. The establishment is her private club. If you prefer, you may wait here until I return.”

  “Not a chance. Lead the way.”

  • • •

  Seven was not nervous, but she was eager to conclude their business on Lillestan as quickly as possible. The moment she entered the dimly lit, smoky room filled with semiprivate and likely unseen private alcoves, live music provided by a quartet of identically attired Hedeomiks—Species 9552—whose instruments were partially submerged in large tanks of murky, green
liquid, and scantily clad service personnel, she knew she had chosen correctly.

  “Welcome to Jewl’s,” said an obsequious host with vivid neon-blue tattoos covering his bald scalp, face, and neck. The rest of his body was encased in a skintight black ensemble and emitted a strong, musky stench that almost brought tears to Seven’s eyes. “May I inquire as to your patronage?”

  “You may not,” Seven replied.

  The man took only a few moments to size her up. Should he insist that they identify a member of this club to gain admittance, they might be forced to retreat. Seven hoped that pretending as if they belonged would be enough to discourage questions, along with the small chits of local currency she slipped to him casually while allowing her eyes to nonchalantly search the room.

  When he did not reply, but pocketed the small bribe, Seven continued, “I was told that Jewl’s was an establishment that prioritized discretion.”

  “You were not misinformed,” the man said with a deep bow.

  “I require specialized services,” Seven whispered.

  For a moment the man’s eyes met hers and his desire to personally provide whatever those services might be was clearly visible. “Name them and they shall be yours,” he replied huskily.

  “A ship with a discreet pilot,” Seven said.

  The host’s disappointment was clear, but he nodded again.

  “This way,” he said.

  10

  VESTA

  Admiral Kathryn Janeway awaited Tuvok’s arrival with mingled anticipation and trepidation. She had transmitted a private message to her old friend shortly after the Omega Continuum crisis had been resolved. To her surprise, Tuvok had not responded. His wife, T’Pel, had sent a letter instead indicating that Tuvok was struggling at the time to regain his emotional equilibrium and believed that contacting the admiral would threaten the progress he had made.

  For someone long accustomed to placing the needs of others ahead of her own, it had been relatively easy for Janeway to convince herself that Tuvok had every right to ignore her message until he felt ready to respond. As the moments leading up to this final, significant reunion dwindled, she found a little anger surfacing unexpectedly. Apparently her needs had not factored into Tuvok’s thought process. That stung more than she had admitted to herself.