Star Trek Voyager: Unworthy Read online

  The Irsk/Dulaph stood patiently at the Neyser’s side, cloaked only from the waist down in a pair of loose hanging, roughly woven trousers. Its bare feet, like the rest of its exposed flesh, glistened in the overhead lights.

  Captain Eden stepped forward as their guests stood on the platform, looking about the room with placid curiosity.

  “Welcome aboard the Federation Starship Voyager . We are honored by your visit.”

  When the Indign did not respond, Eden continued, “We are explorers from a distant part of the galaxy. We have come hoping to better acquaint ourselves with other species. We regret the results of our first encounter with one of your vessels. Our sensors indicated that it was uninhabited. I offer you our deepest apologies.”

  The Neyser met Eden’s expectant gaze briefly as the Greech undulated on its arm while making a shrill, whining sound. The Indign then stepped down from the platform and moved toward the transporter room door. The pair of security guards standing there looked to Kim to confirm their next move and Harry automatically looked to Eden.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Give our guests some room.” She followed the Indign out the door into the hallway, Patel, Sharak, and Cambridge right behind her. Harry motioned for the guards—Maplethorpe and Gaston—to fall in with him and the party began their tour of the ship.

  The Neyser seemed content to make its way regally through the halls while the Irsk/Dulaph capered about. It ran its stubby hands along the hull and when it reached an operation panel, its legs extended themselves to better examine the display. Captain Eden attempted to engage it by giving a brief description of the unit’s function, but the Irsk/Dulaph ignored her, apparently content to gather its own intelligence.

  When they reached the astrometrics lab, Eden asked Patel to bring up a display of the current system. As the multihued planets danced in their orbit of the system’s single star, the Indign simply walked gracefully over the platform, ignoring the show.

  “Lieutenant Patel, bring up a display of the Sol system,” Captain Eden ordered, hoping to find a way to crack the Indign’s silence.

  Eden attempted to direct the Indign’s attention to the home of Starfleet.

  The Irsk/Dulaph hesitated once the brilliant blue and green world awash in fine filaments of white clouds appeared. It then turned back to Eden and suddenly its body began to lose its shape. After a vaguely disturbing display of what appeared to be melting flesh, the creature resolved itself into the form of a human man of medium height with unkempt white hair pulled back into an unruly ponytail. He wore dark pants and a ragged leather vest over a simply patterned flannel shirt. More interesting than its form was the captain’s reaction.

  She stared in wonder at the figure before saying softly, “That’s not possible.”

  “Who is that, Captain?” Cambridge asked softly.

  “My uncle, Jobin,” Eden replied.

  “Is he still on Earth, Captain?” Harry asked.

  “No,” Eden said, still awestruck. “But that’s exactly how he appeared the last time I saw him, just before I entered the Academy.”

  “Were you just thinking of him?” Cambridge inquired.

  “No.”

  With halting steps, Eden crossed to the platform and moved gingerly toward the apparition. “The form you have taken is of one very dear to me,” she said sincerely. “Thank you for the kindness you have shown in re-creating this form.”

  Before she had finished the sentiment, however, the figure began to glimmer and lose cohesion. Seconds later, the Irsk/ Dulaph had resumed its normal appearance.

  The tour continued through the mess hall where the Irsk/ Dulaph again did its magic, pulling images from several of the crew members in the midst of their dinners. A parrot, a butterfly, and a friendly yellow Labrador capered about the room to the delight of the crew.

  Eden did not allow the Indign onto the bridge—an appropriate precautionary measure of which Kim heartily approved—nor was it allowed to venture into engineering.

  The tour was completed with a brief visit to one of the cargo holds, after which the Indign led the way back to the transporter room.

  Eden tried at every turn to engage the creatures, yet apart from the whimsical behavior of the Irsk/Dulaph, and the occasional, disquieting sounds from the Greech, the visit ended as curiously as it had begun.

  Before ordering Donner to activate the transporter, Captain Eden took one last stab at moving their relationship forward.

  “The Federation we represent does not interfere in the lives of those we encounter on our explorations. If it is your wish that we leave your system without further contact, we will honor your wishes. It is difficult, however, to know how best to proceed without some sign from you of your intentions.”

  The Indign maintained its stubborn silence and with obvious regret, Eden nodded to Donner.

  Once their guest had been safely returned to the planet’s surface, Eden turned on her staff.

  “Impressions?” she asked immediately.

  “Fascinating” was Patel’s first response.

  “Rude,” Doctor Sharak observed.

  “To me they seem curious,” Kim said. “It would be helpful if they’d speak to us, but I think the fact that they decided to transport aboard at all should be seen as a step in the right direction.”

  Eden favored him with a rare smile.

  “I like the way you think, Lieutenant,” she said. “And I hope you’re right.”

  “But it’s curious,” Cambridge finally said.

  “Counselor?” Eden asked.

  “They could have been attempting to get to know us better. The display of the shape-shifter was entertaining. But they could also have been measuring the drapes.”

  “Sir?” Sharak asked, truly puzzled.

  “You think they were examining our ship because they intend to attempt to take it from us?” Kim asked.

  “Ah,” Sharak said, his eyes widening with comprehension. “And when it is theirs, they will improve upon the decoration. Yes.”

  “Did you really sense that their intentions were hostile?” Eden demanded of Cambridge.

  “I’m not an empath, Captain. I didn’t sense anything. I’m merely suggesting that it is too soon to conclude anything about their intentions, as their actions to this point are open to a varied range of interpretations.”

  At that, Eden turned to Kim and said, “We’ll keep an open mind, but we’ll also keep our guard up.”

  “Captain,” Donner interrupted.

  “What is it, Ensign?”

  “We have received another transmission. The same transport coordinates.”

  “Is it another Indign?” Eden asked.

  “No, Captain,” Donner confirmed. “It’s a small object.”

  “Does that object have a power signature?” Harry asked.

  “Or a lit fuse at one end?” Cambridge quipped.

  “It is approximately half a meter in length, and thirteen centimeters in diameter. It is inert and contains no detectable technology,” Donner reported.

  With a sigh, Eden ordered, “Bring it aboard, Ensign.”

  A metallic canister roughly the size of a test canister used by Starfleet when checking the transporters shimmered into existence before them.

  Eden turned to Donner and said, “Send it to the Hawking. Advise Captain Itak to assign a team to analyze it. I’d like to know what it is, and if there’s any way to open it.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Cambridge assumed a posture of mock chagrin, saying, “With your permission, I’d like to revise my earlier assessment.”

  “How so?”

  “Although the Indign appear to be inscrutable I believe we can safely acknowledge one thing about them.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “They like to give gifts.”

  Chakotay walked swiftly across the bridge on his way to Eden’s ready room. He had been summoned. Still, his quickness of step was evidence that he might never again f
eel truly comfortable in the heart of Voyager.

  You’re being ridiculous, part of his mind argued. He had lived most of the last ten years aboard Voyager and spent the vast majority of his waking hours on the bridge. But that fact didn’t slow his steps.

  Commander Paris occupied the captain’s chair and he offered Chakotay a pleasant nod the moment he stepped off the turbolift, as Lasren stumbled over a faint, “Hello, Captain … I mean … Chakotay.” These simple gestures only tightened the knot in his stomach.

  He paused to collect himself at the door to the ready room and heard the door chime. After hearing a muted “Enter,” he stepped inside.

  Captain Eden was seated at her desk, poring over a stack of padds. The room had changed quite a bit since it had belonged to him. Apart from the absence of scorch marks, crumpled wall plates, and hanging conduits he vaguely remembered following the battle at the Azure Nebula, the walls behind and adjacent to Eden’s desk were now decorated with large expressionistic paintings done in vivid reds, blues, and greens. A medium-sized bronze statue of a cat balancing on its forepaws atop a ball rested on one end of her credenza. Personal photos and mementos were arranged throughout and gave the space an unusually homey feel. The carpet and upholstery retained a subtle new smell he hadn’t associated with the room since the first days he’d been on board in the Delta quadrant.

  The captain dropped the padd she was studying as he crossed to stand before her desk.

  “Thank you for reporting so promptly.” She gestured for him to take a seat in one of two streamlined and from the looks of it, rather uncomfortable armless chairs opposite the desk.

  “Not at all, Captain,” he replied.

  Jumping right in, Eden said, “According to Counselor Cambridge and the Doctor, Seven of Nine seems to adjusting well to her duties. Is that your impression as well?”

  “It is.”

  There was a pause as Eden waited to see if he would expand on that thought and when he didn’t she went on, “And you’ve seen nothing in her behavior off-duty to suggest that the voice she reported hearing is inhibiting her abilities?”

  “No,” Chakotay replied succinctly. Briefly he wondered if his reticence was motivated by pettiness. Once he acknowledged that that might be the case he added, “The neural inhibitor has completely muted the voice. Counselor Cambridge has asked her to disengage the inhibitor briefly in their sessions, hoping that she will be able to control the voice.”

  Something in his remarks disquieted Eden. She rose and went to the large windows that offered a view of the Indign planet they were orbiting. Eden paused and set her back against the rail that separated the desk area from the seating area. Crossing her arms she said, “I’ve just received a rather troubling report from Lieutenant Conlon.”

  “B’Elanna speaks very highly of her,” Chakotay offered.

  “Yes, apparently Commander Torres is quite generous with her expertise.”

  “That sounds like her,” Chakotay agreed.

  “Lieutenant Conlon has discovered a series of unauthorized protocols that has been added to the deflector controls.”

  Chakotay nodded for her to continue, suddenly realizing that he probably wasn’t here to offer his expertise, but quite possibly to defend himself.

  “Conlon tells me that the protocols in question have quite specific functions, including one that is capable of opening a rift to fluidic space.”

  “A system error, perhaps,” Chakotay suggested.

  “That was my first thought as well,” Eden conceded, “but closer examination has determined that it was installed shortly before the fleet entered the Delta quadrant. In fact, just after you and Seven came aboard.”

  Chakotay considered his next words carefully. “Is there an accusation coming at some point here, Captain?” Chakotay heard more defensiveness in his tone than he had intended.

  “Not yet,” Eden replied, uncrossing her arms. “But I do think it’s curious.”

  “It’s Seven you’re concerned about,” Chakotay realized.

  “Seven has been under emotional stress since the Caeliar transformation. She’s desperately searching for answers. Maybe she thinks Species 8472 has them.”

  Chakotay stood and moved to stand opposite Eden. “The peace accord we reached with Species 8472 was contingent upon never again corrupting their realm. Seven was there. She knows what’s at stake. And she would never risk the safety of those aboard Voyager, even for the sake of her own curiosity.”

  “I know you believe that,” Eden replied. “And I want to. But the fact is that Seven is one of only a few people who could have written and installed that program.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Eden said, clearly taken aback.

  “Someone else clearly did, and you need to find out who and why. I could save you some time, if you were willing to trust my judgment. If not, I really can’t help you,” Chakotay said with a shrug.

  “Thank you for your time, Chakotay,” Eden replied evenly.

  “I’m assuming you’ve purged the program, just to be safe?” he asked.

  Eden paused before replying, “We can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It seems the only way to get rid of it would be to completely reinstall the deflector control program. We’ve already made hundreds of adjustments to the program to facilitate our slipstream travel and to purge it now would leave us vulnerable.”

  “Is Lieutenant Conlon your best programmer?” Chakotay asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’d have B’Elanna take a look at it again. She might be able to find a way around that problem. Creative solutions have always been a specialty of hers.”

  “I will bear that in mind.”

  Chakotay nodded and moved quickly to the exit, wondering how long it was going to take for him to dig himself out of the piles of suspicion that he had heaped upon himself in the past three years.

  Paris entered his cabin more than two hours after his shift ended. As Voyager’s first officer, Tom found off-duty to be a much more malleable term than it had been when he’d served as a helmsman. Today it had been Ensign Lasren who’d required a little extra time and attention. Tom had been tempted to suggest that he take his concerns about Ensign B’kar—the gamma shift ops officer’s tendency to leave his station configured to accommodate his three-fingered hands rather than Lasren’s five—up with Counselor Cambridge. Unfortunately Lasren, like many aboard Voyager, had a hard time relating to Cambridge. Tom suggested a few strategies to the young Betazoid over a couple of drinks in the mess. Then he remembered that B’Elanna and Miral were waiting for him.

  He fully expected to face B’Elanna’s wrath. Instead, he entered their quarters to find the small dinner table set with everything he would have required for a romantic evening, including two tapered candles, and low jazz playing in the background.

  The only thing that puzzled him was that the table appeared to be set for four instead of two.

  B’Elanna hurried in from the bedroom. At some point during the day she’d obviously replicated the fitted, midnight-blue dress she was wearing. It accentuated her perfectly proportioned neck and toned shoulders, as well as her tiny waist, then flowed softly into a wide skirt, which ended just below her knees.

  The “Hi, honey” and tender kiss with which she greeted him made him wonder if he had somehow entered a temporal anomaly wherein his passionate Klingon wife had been replaced by the equally voluptuous and vapid housewives who populated the television serials from Earth’s mid–twentieth century.

  “You look stunning,” he said sincerely. “Now what have you done with my wife?”

  B’Elanna smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited a couple of friends to join us for dinner.”

  He understood that after more than a year spent in the solitude of her shuttle, B’Elanna probably craved social activities. But part of Tom couldn’t help wondering how quickly they could finish dinner so he could enjoy helping he
r out of that dress.

  “Where’s Miral?” he asked.

  “She’s already asleep. The anti-viral makes her really sleepy. She had a long nap this afternoon and then went down again right after dinner and her bath.”

  “But she’s better?”

  “Oh, yes. The Doc assures me she’ll be running both of us ragged again in a couple of days.”

  “I can’t wait,” Tom said with a smile.

  “That’s because you’ve never actually experienced it,” B’Elanna reminded him gently. “Kula’s watching over her, but you could take a peek and give her a kiss before our guests arrive.”

  “Didn’t we just do this last night?” Tom demanded with mock annoyance.

  B’Elanna turned on him with a withering glance, hands planted on her hips. “And you’ve been where for the last two hours?”

  Tom took her hands in his and replied, “Missing you desperately.”

  “Oh, good answer, fly-boy,” B’Elanna said, stepping close enough for him to begin nuzzling her neck.

  At which point, of course, the door chime sounded.

  “Make them go away,” he whispered.

  “Soon, I promise,” she replied as she pulled away and crossed to the door.

  Tom turned to see Nancy Conlon enter, she and B’Elanna falling effortlessly into shop talk. He stepped into the bedroom and spent a few moments gazing at his sleeping daughter in what had once been the suite’s private office. Kneeling down he lovingly caressed her forehead, pleased to find it neither too hot nor too cold. After pulling her blanket up he noted the holographic nanny standing guard in the shadows of the room.

  “Hi, there,” he said amiably.

  “Good evening, Commander,” Kula said gruffly.

  Tom shed his uniform jacket in favor of a soft, turquoise tunic and returned to the living area to find B’Elanna pouring red wine for both Nancy and Harry.

  Tom paused, the muscles in his neck tensing. He and Harry hadn’t exchanged a word off-duty since B’Elanna had arrived. They kept their on-duty conversations to a minimum as the ice that had formed between them had yet to begin to thaw. Obviously B’Elanna had sensed this. Still, Tom wished she’d mentioned her plan to him before inviting Harry over. They needed to talk but it wasn’t going to happen this way.