Atonement Page 22

  Groans interspersed with violent spasms of pain came from the bunk’s resident, a middle-aged woman with thick, dark hair. Black wisps were plastered to her face, which was generously beaded with sweat.

  Seven forced her way through the crowd and addressed Nocks. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Jilliant had just gone to bed. She sat up, screaming. It’s only been a few minutes. Something she ate?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Seven said.

  Julia rose and allowed Seven to take her place as Doctor Sharak entered the hall and came rushing toward them. Paris raised a hand to hold him back as Seven took both of Jilliant’s hands in hers and closed her eyes.

  A few moments later, the woman’s pain seemed to subside. Her breathing calmed and her eyes opened, staring up at Seven’s face in mingled fear and wonder.

  “Get her some water,” Seven ordered.

  Several rushed to comply as Nocks asked, “What did you do?”

  “It’s all right,” the woman said weakly.

  “Jilliant?” Nocks asked.

  “It’s gone now. She made it go away.”

  “Seven?” Nocks demanded.

  Seven squeezed Jilliant’s hand and smiled kindly at her before rising to face Nocks. “All of you gave samples of your catoms to Starfleet Medical before you were placed in stasis. I had an understanding with Commander Briggs. He has been experimenting with my catoms, as well as those of Axum and Riley. He was not to use any of yours for his ongoing work.”

  “What does this—” Nocks began.

  “He is no longer honoring our understanding,” Seven said. “Once he has modified catomic particles, he injects them into living subjects. Once they begin to acclimate to their new environment, the previous owner experiences the same sensations as the test subjects. I have endured this many times already.

  “With proper instruction, all of you can be taught to control your responses to these attacks. The pain will still be present, but you will not feel it.”

  “How?” Nocks asked, wary.

  “Riley told me that you had all agreed not to explore your catomic natures. I’m afraid the Commander’s actions have made that choice unsustainable, unless you wish to subject yourselves to his experiments.”

  Nocks looked ready to punch something or someone. Paris moved to one side of Seven as Sharak stepped to the other.

  “What have you done to us?” Nocks asked, horrified.

  “I have done nothing,” Seven replied. “This was the work of the Caeliar and the result of our choice not to join their gestalt. I have spent a great deal of time beginning to understand what that means. I am ready to share what I know with all of you. And should anyone else be attacked as Jilliant was, I will assist them in moving beyond the pain. If we work together,” Seven assured him, “the Commander will be unable to harm any of us.”

  “There is no us!” Nocks shouted. “We are individuals now.”

  “Individuals who face a common threat,” Sharak noted.

  “I have no wish to strip anyone of their individuality,” Seven said. “I would no more part with mine than I would expect you to part with yours. But together we are stronger than any individual.”

  “I know what we were together,” Nocks spat harshly. “We were freed from that, but you would lead us back there, Seven of Nine.”

  “I have no intention of leading you anywhere,” Seven insisted. “I will not force you or anyone to comply.”

  Nocks pushed his way past Seven and seated himself beside Jilliant. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “It wasn’t like before.”

  “What wasn’t?” Nocks asked.

  “The gestalt,” Jilliant replied.

  “What is she talking about?” Paris asked Seven on a whisper.

  “In order to assist Jilliant, I had to bring her into the joint thought-space Axum, Riley, and I have created,” Seven said. “Axum believes that eventually, all of us will join him there.”

  “Is that your belief?”

  Seven shook her head. “But I’m not sure how to prevent it either.”

  15

  VESTA

  As the Voth ship continued its scans, Captain Farkas considered her options. She had been ordered to share the fleet’s discoveries about the Seriareen and the Kinara’s fate at the Gateway with the Turei and Vaadwaur. Avoiding the much more dangerous Voth seemed like a wise precaution.

  It was also no longer possible.

  As soon as the Voth ship began emitting anti-proton bursts, Farkas began to worry that they suspected the presence of cloaked vessels. When tachyon surges followed, that fear was confirmed. Something had tripped their sensors, and they were hunting for the source.

  Jepel was constantly revising his calculations indicating how soon the Voth ship would pinpoint their location. With each minute that passed, roughly another five minutes was shaved off his estimates.

  Farkas was worried about her ship, but much more concerned about Demeter. They couldn’t initiate a slipstream jump from their current orbit of the Ark Planet, and for them to ask their protector to move them to a safe location would only increase the speed with which they were discovered.

  The captain was also reviewing everything she had read about Voyager’s initial encounter with the Voth and her ship’s records of the Scion’s capabilities. She had little doubt that the Voth would eventually come to appreciate the intelligence she had to share with them. The trick was living long enough to make that happen.

  Her best chance was risky, if not rash. Its odds of success topped out at around forty percent. Not good. Just the best she could do.

  She quickly relayed the outlines of a plan to Commanders O’Donnell and Fife. Their jobs would be relatively easy compared to hers. Timing was essential to this effort, and Fife assured Farkas he would wait until the last possible moment to act. They did not bother wishing her luck. They merely nodded grimly, in unison. Farkas smiled at this, marveling at how far these two had come in such a short time together.

  Regina Farkas then ordered the Vesta’s self-destruct protocol to commence on a delay under a single circumstance, added an unusual trigger, locked out any overrides, and gave the bridge to Commander Roach.

  Moments later, as she jogged lightly toward the transporter room on deck three, the hairs on the back of her arms rose. Vesta had just shed her protector.

  No turning back now.

  “Captain Farkas, we have opened a channel to the Voth ship and begun transmitting standard friendship greetings,” Commander Roach reported.

  “Very good, Commander,” she replied.

  Entering the transporter room, Farkas hurried to the platform. Roach had already relayed her transport coordinates, and the officer on duty stood ready. The moment she was in place, she ordered, “Energize.”

  She could have sworn her gut lurched as the transport effect began to take hold. Get a grip, Regina, she thought, tightening her fingers around the only weapon she was taking with her: a padd.

  Finally, the sight of Lieutenant Kerscheznsky hunched over his control panel vanished and was immediately replaced by a glorious vista.

  • • • • •

  Commander Roach did not expect the Voth to respond to their hails. He agreed with his captain that they would likely refuse to lower themselves to speak with any inferior species. He only hoped they would not immediately open fire.

  He sat calmly in his seat, trying to convey the same poise his captain always displayed, even under the most challenging of circumstances. He hadn’t served with Farkas long, but had already come to regard her as one of the finest officers in Starfleet.

  The moment the bright blue beam shot forth from the Voth ship, Roach smiled.

  Damn, Farkas was good.

  “All hands, secure stations and prepare to welcome boarding parties,” Roach ordered.

  • • • • •

  Commander Liam O’Donnell had made some truly terrible decisions in his life. He tried to keep them
in perspective. When they were set alongside his list of accomplishments, the scales remained slightly tipped toward the good.

  Should Captain Regina Farkas and her crew lose their lives because he had needed to prove a point to Overseer Bralt, that calculus was going to change dramatically. He doubted anything he might do in the future would ever make up for it.

  Alana, he thought.

  She had died years ago after a tragic miscarriage, but she had never really left him.

  No, that’s not true.

  He had never really let her go.

  From that day to this, he had carried her so close that their constant conversations in his head had become as normal, as real, as any he shared with the living.

  Alana, he thought again.

  She didn’t answer. She might have already decided that this time, he’d gone too far. He had endured her silence in the past, knowing that she would return as soon as he had once again earned the privilege of her company.

  He racked his brain, trying to remember the last time they had spoken.

  Has it really been that long?

  She’d advised him well during his confrontations with Captain Chakotay following their initial discovery of the Ark Planet. But since then . . .

  He’d been so busy, so preoccupied with his duties, and had become so accustomed to seeking out the counsel of his crew, that he’d somehow fallen out of the habit of taking every concern first to her.

  He couldn’t even remember when, let alone how, that had happened. Only that it had. And now, when he needed her again so desperately . . .

  “Alana,” he whispered.

  “Captain O’Donnell,” Fife advised, “Vesta has been transported aboard the Voth ship.”

  “Have you communicated our request to the protectors?” O’Donnell asked.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Stand by.”

  “Are you all right, Captain?” Fife asked.

  No, he realized, but nodded anyway.

  • • • • •

  Captain Farkas hadn’t been specific when she asked Jepel to find the best spot on the Ark Planet for her pending negotiations: warm, dry, and far from large wild animals had pretty much covered it.

  Jepel had outdone himself.

  The sand beneath her boots was fine and white. The waves rolling toward the shoreline were tranquil and reassuring. The water extending as far as her eye could see was so clear that near the coastline, it was the palest green. Several reefs dotted the ocean floor. It was past midday, local time, but the sun had just begun its descent and bathed the beach in radiance, softened by a fierce, fresh breeze.

  Should her crew die now at the hands of the Voth, she would always regret not being with them. But there were worse places to spend her final moments.

  Instead of dwelling on the glory around her, she shaded her eyes and lifted them skyward.

  “Anytime, Liam,” she said aloud.

  Finally, she clearly discerned a black dot on the horizon, speeding toward her. It arrived less than a minute later, a single Voth male wearing a vibrant blue uniform draped with a large metallic chain.

  The moment the protector that had brought him here released him, he fell to his knees on the sand before her. Fear filled his eyes, but rather than kiss the ground—a clear desire once he ascertained his physical safety—he stumbled, attempting to rise to his feet.

  Cognizant of the importance of first impressions, Farkas extended a hand to him to help him up.

  “How do you do, sir,” she said, taking a little of his weight. “I am Captain Regina Farkas of the Federation Starship Vesta.” As she brushed away the sand he had transferred to her hand on her pant leg, she added, “You’re here because you refused to answer my ship’s hails. You and I really need to speak. After your ship assumed orbit around this planet, this was the only way I could think of to make that happen.”

  “Human,” he spat. “Always deception.”

  Tapping a bracelet he wore, he said, “Thulan to Vival. Respond.”

  When no signal sounded, he tapped the device again furiously.

  “Right now both you and I are invisible to our respective ships. Some local friends of mine have cloaked this beach and our presence here is undetectable.”

  “More treachery.”

  “Not at all,” she said. “I know your people and mine didn’t get off to a great start. Despite that, I’ve just put myself and my crew at great risk to facilitate this meeting.”

  “Capturing me will not further your aims. My crew will act on its last orders whether I am present to carry them out or not.”

  “Did those last orders include capturing my ship and taking it into one of those vast holds I’ve heard so much about on your city-ships?” Farkas asked.

  He seemed taken aback.

  “Let’s try this again,” Farkas said. “I’m Regina. You’re Thulan?”

  He nodded, grudgingly.

  “Hello, Thulan. The moment you transported my ship into your hold, the Vesta’s self-destruct protocol was armed. It is set to a ten-minute delay to give us some time to talk, but as my first officer is no doubt advising your second-in-command right now, it will activate should our sensors detect any energy wave consistent with your transport devices. I know Vesta’s a lot smaller than your Vival, but between her mass and the considerable ordnance she’s carrying, Vesta’s destruction within your ship should guarantee that Vival suffers some very serious damage should you try to remove her from your vessel’s belly and send her back to open space.”

  “She’s a bomb,” Thulan realized.

  “With a short fuse. I’m the only officer who can order that protocol rescinded, and I’m going to have to do it in person,” Farkas added apologetically.

  “Why have you brought me here?” Thulan demanded.

  “Several months ago, your First Minister Odala did something I’m guessing many of your leaders found odd. Rather than continuing the xenophobic tendencies for which the Voth are famed, she coerced her fellows into joining an alliance of several alien species called the Kinara. The purpose of that alliance was to take down an even bigger alien alliance, The Confederacy of the Worlds of the First Quadrant. I’m not sure what she promised you, but she probably said that this was critical for your people because my Federation had recently dispatched a rather large fleet of ships to the Delta Quadrant with more powerful propulsion systems than the Starship Voyager.

  “Odala then sent a few small ships out to investigate our communications relays and when her intelligence was confirmed, those ships began meticulously destroying key relays in order to eventually destabilize the whole network.”

  Thulan crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You haven’t contradicted anything I’ve said yet,” Farkas observed.

  “Go on,” Thulan replied.

  “The real First Minister Odala would never have been able to conscience such an alliance with inferior species, let alone allocate resources to the Kinara. The real First Minister Odala was murdered by an alien we know as Lsia of the Seriareen. Lsia is a hologram. She can take any form she wishes. She has probably been impersonating your minister since the first day she gained access to Odala. I can’t guess as to what form she took at that time. I only know what the result was.”

  “Are these Seriareen part of your Federation?”

  “No, sir. The whole story is a little complicated for the few minutes of life both of our crews now have left to them. This padd contains all of the intelligence we have on Lsia and her people, their history, and their current goals. It also contains sensor readings from a battle that took place a few days ago near the Gateway to the Confederacy. Your ship, the Scion, took a beating during that engagement, but was able to escape. I’m assuming you’re here because the Scion has yet to report in.”

  Thulan’s silence confirmed Farkas’s guess.

  “You have a choice to make. I’m not here to turn millions of years of Voth doctrine on its head. I’m not here to ask for a new
beginning between our people, although I wouldn’t mind it. I’m here to help you. Are you going to let me do that, or are we both going to spend the rest of our lives on this beach wondering what we should have done differently?”

  Thulan shook his head. “I haven’t understood a decision the first minister has made for months,” he said, extending his hand to accept the padd she held out to him.

  “I’d read quickly,” Farkas suggested.

  VOYAGER

  General Mattings had been looking forward to boarding Voyager since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Like all of the Federation’s vessels, her lines were sleek and graceful and turned his thoughts to art rather than technology. He’d rarely seen the two exist so comfortably together.

  His first peek inside her consisted only of a quick walk from the transporter room through several gray, nondescript halls, into a small elevation device and down a short hall into a briefing room containing a midsized utilitarian table and several soft chairs. Not everything he had imagined, but he was growing more accustomed each day to frustrated expectations.

  Captain Chakotay and Lieutenant Kim greeted him cordially, offering him a beverage before taking a seat at the table. Admiral Janeway was on her way to join them. Mattings wanted to request the strongest drink the replicators—he’d heard so much about—could produce, but settled for a spiced cider the captain suggested. It had a nice bite, but did little else to calm the general’s nerves.

  “What did you think of our transporter, General?” Lieutenant Kim asked politely. Kim was a good man and was clearly hoping to set the general at ease. Chakotay was also a good man, comfortable on his ship, but still less so in the general’s presence.

  “My journey was over before I knew it,” Mattings admitted. “Extraordinary. It didn’t even tickle.”

  Kim smiled and looked to Chakotay, who did not. Although the two of them had enjoyed several productive exchanges since the battle at the Gateway, it was clear that Chakotay still harbored serious misgivings about the general and the Confederacy he served. He hoped that was about to change.